Halcyon Academy
by HalcyonLegacy
Summary: Relationships between the Halcyon Clan and their allies are strained. The Halcyon Academy welcomes its first class of students, but an unexpected enemy lurks in the shadows. Set five years after the events of Sins of the Father. Updated Sundays.
1. Chapter 1

*Prologue*

They were little more than children when they discovered their own mortality. The lower levels of Coruscant were not unfamiliar with tragedy, the poor and downtrodden often found themselves victim to unseemly ends down here. Growing up on the streets, you had to fear starvation and disease as much as you did any gang member with a blaster. Children who found themselves without the protection of parents often banded together to survive. Such fellowships rarely lasted long on the streets. The ones who tried to escape to the upper floors often found themselves in indentured servitude, working the freighter docks or drafted into the Republic military. The ones that chose to make the lower slums their homes usually ended up joining the gangs, where your life ended in a cell or an alley.

One such group of children, however, persisted. Over time, its numbers dwindled, but four hungry children grew into four very hungry teenagers, and it was only a matter of time before they turned to a life of crime to fill their bellies. Cruising the streets on their swoop bikes shoddily assembled from junk and trash, the gang of teens calling themselves the Hellfathers were known to take small jobs outside the confines of the law, if the pay was right. If you needed some place trashed, or something stolen, and didn't have any requirements in regards to finesse, you knew which swoop gang to call on.

Over time, the Hellfathers became something of local heroes to the small neighborhood underneath the Duros sector. Even the larger, more dangerous gangs stayed out of their area, though this was probably born more out of amusement than actual fear or respect. Regardless of the motives, those that claimed residence near the boys were all grateful for the protection they provided. And their names were never forgotten.

There was Otso, the portly redhaired boy who never backed away from a fight. Bersk, the youngest of the group, a clean-cut Mirialan who most believed would be the first from their lower floor to break into the more civilized society of the upper levels. Lothärius, whose brash and impatient personality had incited a dozen street brawls and broken another dozen hearts. And Kuno, the leader of the Hellfathers, who was quiet and reflective. He kept the group tied down and focused, and was always the level-headed voice of reason that balanced out Lothärius and Otso's more rowdy personalities.

These four spent their days drinking and revelling, enjoying the freedom their lifestyle provided. At night, their deeds consisted mostly of extortion and racketeering for the larger criminal gangs. They were fairly small time, until one day they were approached by the leader of a Duros gang, who offered them the largest payout any of them have ever seen to run several packages to the Nikto sector a few levels down. With the money offered, they could do what they had never dared to dream of in the past: leave the lower levels. Kuno was hesitant, fearing that whatever heat might be on this packages would be too great. Ultimately it was Lothärius who convinced the group that this was their ticket out of the slums.

A few hours later, the four Hellfathers were riding their swoops, loaded up with the crates, farther down in the lower levels than any of them had ever dared to go. It was going well, and Kuno began to relax and dream of what he would do with his share of the credits. He was lost in thought when a blaster bolt sheared off the front fin of his swoop and sent him spiraling into a trash heap. He barely managed to abandon his doomed swoop before it crashed into the trash receptacles and exploded.

"Kuno!" Otso's voice sounded through the flames. The other three quickly pulled back and retrieved their friend and leader. This turned out to be a tactical misstep, for as soon as all four of them were confined to the small space behind the dumpsters, a hail of blaster bolts rained down upon them.

Lothärius quickly shoved the receptacles in place, forming a makeshift barricade for them to hide behind. Bersk was attempting to treat Kuno's badly burned leg. Otso had pulled his blaster and was firing blind over the barricade, shouting obscenities. "Who is firing at us?" Loth called to Otso.

The portly man attempted to peer over the barricade to get a glimpse at their attackers, but a near-miss blaster bolt sprayed shrapnel into his face. He howled and fell backwards. Lothärius began to panic.

Kuno, ignoring the damage to his leg, pulled from the wreckage of his swoop one of the packages the Duros had given them. He quickly pried it open to reveal several high caliber assault blasters stamped with a familiar insignia.

"Mandos." Kuno sneered through his teeth. "That damn Duros stole blasters from Mandos and sent us out to mule'em."

"What the hell are Mandos doing on Coruscant?" Bersk shouted over the blaster fire. He was not prepared for this kind of combat, and tears were forming in his eyes.

"Hold on, I'll ask 'em." Otso wiped soot from his eyes and grabbed one of the assault blasters. He hefted it over the barricade and opened fire, roaring.

Loth looked at Kuno's leg. "We are down a swoop, you are injured, and we are pinned down by Mando mercs. I...I dont know what to do here."

Kuno leaned his head back against the wall. "There's only one way any of us walk out of here, Loth. Load the packages on Berk's swoop. I'll hop on and tear out of here along the trade route. You three blast out of here the other way as soon as those Mandos follow me."

"Kuno, we can't do that. They'll kill you!"

Kuno grabbed Lothärius and pulled him close. "Loth, you have to get these two out of here. Otso is going to get himself killed, and Bersk, man, look at him. He's just a kid. You've got to take care of them now. That's YOUR job now, you hear me?"

Lothärius could offer no retort. He knew that Kuno's plan was the tactically sound one. He also knew that the Mandalorians would kill him the moment they caught him. And they would catch him. The extra weight of the weapons would slow him down significantly. He pushed away the tears from his eyes, and grabbed his friend by the back of his neck, pushing their foreheads together. "Nobody gets to live forever."

"As you say." Kuno agreed.

A few moments later, Kuno was speeding away. The Mandalorians quickly pursued him, ignoring the other three and going after their stolen cargo. Bersk held tightly to Lothärius, choking back sobs. Otso quickly sped off down the nearest vent shaft leading to higher levels. Lothärius watched the Mandalorians until they were out of sight. After a few minutes, with the blaster fire resumed, he turned his head and followed Otso out.

Unfortunately, they did not make it far. Coruscant Security quickly apprehended the boys on charges of gunrunning. They were brought before the courts, who gave them a simple choice. Enlist, or rot in prison. All three chose the first option.

Forty years later, Lothärius still sleeps uneasily, dreaming of blaster fire, and the sacrifice that spared his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Fiachra was very nervous. It was her first day at the Halcyon Academy, and she was not sure what she was supposed to do when she arrived. The man flying the shuttle had informed her that there were to be other students around her age for her to get acquainted with, but this did little to ease her tension. She was not a social person, prone to bouts of panic, and she feared that she had made a terrible mistake in agreeing to enroll here.

She clutched her bag tightly. Everything she owned was in it. Trinkets mostly, living on the streets of Nar Shaddaa over the last year, she had been forced to shed attachment with most of her possessions. While there was always work for a pretty young Rattataki, there were certain kinds of work that she had sworn never to do again, and this had limited her options severely. Over time, her saved funds had depleted, and she was forced to resort to begging for food amongst the wealthy socialites who came to Nar Shaddaa for the nightlife.

Despite the fact that her robes had been patched over so many times that they were little more than shapeless rags themselves, Fiachra still found herself on the receiving end of much unwanted attention. Many people offered her food and credits in exchange for her company, and from time to time Fiachra had to set aside her convictions in order to eat. Still, this was not how she wanted to survive, and eventually she stepped away from begging and was forced to rely on thievery.

She was not much of a thief. Her first attempt to pilfer a loaf of bread failed spectacularly. The intended victim, a bronze-skinned woman name Tal'aran, immediately caught her by the wrist before she could get away. After a brief struggle, the woman convinced Fiachra that she was not going to hurt her, and even let her keep the bread. They spoke for a while, with Fiachra breaking down and crying while telling her story. Tal'aran immediately offered sanctuary to the young woman, telling her that she could earn her keep in her boarding house however she saw fit.

She was skeptical at first, but soon found the woman's promise to be sincere. She was given a small apartment room and told she could come and go as she pleased. Her host provided her with clean new clothes, and in return asked only that Fiachra do her best to be deserving of what she had been given. The young woman had little in the way of marketable skills, but spent much of her time tidying up the boarding house, helping out in the kitchen now and then.

After a few weeks of this, Tal'aran set down with Fiachra and spoke with her about her plans. She knew of a place, she told the younger woman, where Fiachra could be trained to make a positive change on the Galaxy. An Academy, of which she had some affiliation, where people of all different backgrounds could unite under one force. Tal'aran believed that Fiachra had it within her not only to thrive at the Academy, but to be one of the chosen few who were given the honor of the name Halcyon.

After the generosity that Tal'aran had shown her, Fiachra accepted her offer to enroll. But now, as the shuttle came in for a landing on the fourth moon of the Yavin system, Fiachra would have given anything to be back on Nar Shaddaa. The shuttle touched down on a landing pad outside a large temple complex. The pilot turned back to her and smiled. "Alright kid, this is it. Good luck out there."

Fiachra nervously clutched her bag. "Thank you, sir."

The pilot scoffed and flipped a few switches on the control panel. "Call me Rodeo, kid. Tal'aran says you go the stuff to be one of us. If that's right, I'll be your brother sooner or later." Fiachra felt herself shrink a little inside, fearful of the pressure that statement put on her. "I make runs here about once a week to keep the place supplied. If there is anything you need, just let us know and I'll see if I can't get it for you on my next run, ok?"

She nodded, and the shuttle door opened. The pilot called Rodeo wished her luck again, and a moment later she was standing on the landing pad as the shuttle took off again. She stood, frozen in place, too nervous to head inside. There was no one present to meet her, and the sounds of the jungle planet returned as the sound of shuttle engines faded away.

She stood there for several minutes, unsure of what to do next. She closed her eyes and desperately wished to be back on Nar Shaddaa. She was still lost in her thoughts when a voice startled her. "Hey. You gonna stand there all day or what?"

Fiachra jumped in fright and opened her eyes. In front of her was a Cathar woman with dark fur. She looked at Fiachra with an annoyed expression on her face. "Well?" Fiachra was taken aback. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but this plainly-dressed greeter was not it.

"I'm...the new student, I guess?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm Adara. Welcome to the Halcyon Academy, blah blah blah, go pick out a bunk downstairs. Dinner will be in the main hall in about an hour. If you have any special needs, don't come to me. I don't care. Find someone who does." The Cathar woman gestured for Fiachra to follow her. "The entire campus is open to you. The parts you can find, anyways. Word of advice? Stay out of the caves if you like keeping all your limbs."

They entered the main hall of the temple, and Fiachra experienced wonder for the first time in her life. Birds and small animals flew through the upper chambers, nesting in the foliage spreading through the stones in the walls. Long tables adorned with various relics lined the room, while a great fountain made up the centerpiece, flanked on either side by large holographic trees of astounding colors. A waterfall could be heard in the distance, as could the sounds of people chattering on different floors of the wide open archways. It was unlike any place Fiachra had ever seen.

"Yo. Newbie." The Cathar woman, Adara, snapped her fingers at Fiachra and pointed to a stairwell leading down. "Bunks are down there. Go pick out a place to sleep and be back up here later for dinner. Tour is officially over." Her guide quickly made off in the other direction, taking a stairway that lead towards the higher floors, leaving Fiachra alone in the main hall. She stood at the top of the stairs that would take her to her dorm, and judging by the voices echoing from below, to meet the other students.

The newest student of the Halcyon Academy closed her eyes, slowed her breathing. She pushed away the feelings of panic that gripped her heart, and took her first steps into her new life.


	3. Chapter 3

Commander Lothärius stood in his office at the Order of Mercy's secret base on Yavin 4. He was sipping on caf and reviewing scout reports on his datapad. It had been nearly five years since they had gone underground and detached from the Republic Senate. Officially, the Order no longer existed. Unofficially, they were still in action righting wrongs wherever they could.

The primary mission, as handed down by Michael Halcyon himself, was to retrieve and extract Republic prisoners of war from the Sith, and now the Zakuul, Empires. And while the Halcyon contacts in the Empire held just enough sway to keep the Sith off their back, the Zakuul had officially labeled the Order of Mercy as a terrorist organization. This had brought an unwelcome degree of attention over the past few years, and Lothärius was beginning to feel the strain.

The Order was feeling it as well, and the increased tension was creating problems at home as well as on missions. When Michael retired from the Order to form his Halcyon Academy, he had passed his mission and his seat to Lothärius because he believed that the old General's military training and legacy could help form the Order into the battle-hardened covert operation they needed to be in order to disappear from the public eye. However, his leadership style, based on strict discipline, was beginning to cause rumbles amongst the troops. He often had to remind himself that these men and women did not all come from military backgrounds, and sometimes he came off as very stern and disapproving.

Lothärius sipped his caf and sighed. He knew the value of morale in long-term engagements such as this, and he had no desire to alienate his charges. But if they wanted to persevere and outlast this dark time, he knew they needed to button down and learn to follow orders. He sighed, and thought back to his younger days. He couldn't help but think that Kuno would not be having near as much difficulty leading such a diverse and ragtag group.

"Excuse me, Commander?"

Lothärius looked up from his datapad to find a soldier standing in the entryway. He was clad in the familiar white and gold armor of the Dawnbreakers, the militia group that Michael's Academy churned out. Lothärius had not been wild at the idea of the Halcyons building their own military force, particularly one trained mainly by a Mandalorian, yet he had to give credit at their service. They were well disciplined and capable. "What is it, soldier?"

The Dawnbreaker saluted, and then stood at ease. "Ruus'alor Haran'buir to see you, sir."

Lothärius frowned. Haran'buir joined the Halcyon clan a few years back. Michael felt that he was perfect to train the Dawnbreakers, as Lothärius would have most of his time focused on the Order. Haran was a true Mandalorian soldier, of the old ways. An expert sniper and survivalist. Lothärius did not care for him. He found it difficult to trust Mandalorians and their cutthroat ways. "Send him in."

The Dawnbreaker saluted again and left the room. A moment later, in walked Haran'buir, a tall man clad head to foot in traditional green Mandalorian Seeker armor. "Su'cuy gar, ner vod." He greeted the Commander. "I have a hunting party of Dawnbreakers that will be crossing through the Order of Mercy's territory later today. They have been instructed not to engage with the Order, but will defend themselves if one of your people opens fire on them again."

Lothärius set down his caf and faced the soldier. He eyed the large rifle on his back carefully. "Your people were unidentified. We are in hiding. It was their own fault for sneaking up on us like that."

"Which is why I am here, now. To inform you of their presence. And to tell you to keep your people in line. Commander." The voice modulator in his helmet prevented much inflection from escaping, but Lothärius swore he heard a smirk in there. "We're all on the same team here, after all."

Haran'buir turned and left the office, his escort of Dawnbreakers quickly falling in line behind him. Lothärius sat in his chair and sighed deeply. This was not how he had planned his retirement would go.


	4. Chapter 4

"I cannot believe I am expected to share a room with you miscreants."

The first words Fiachra heard emerging up the stairs did not fill her with confidence. She could already feel a nervous tension in her stomach, and her feet refused to carry her further. She stood in the stairwell, just around the corner from the Dormitory, and listened to the voices echoing through the temple. She could feel a cold sweat forming on her brow, and she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing again, making an attempt to stave off an attack.

She focused on what she could hear. There were at least three people in the next room, perhaps more. The voice that spoke before was complaining about the room. He was haughty, arrogant. He spoke condescendingly to the others, as though he believed he was above them. There was a strong Imperial accent there, but something else, something she did not recognize. A slight metallic clink when he spoke.

Another voice rose to challenge the first. "You are such a wuss, Zhejari. What's the matter? Too high and mighty to get a little dirt on your face?" Female, a hearty voice. No trace of fear. Her accent was subtle, but present. She spoke with a confidence that Fiachra was envious of.

The first voice, Zhejari, spoke again. "Not all of us like to run around looking like we just took a roll in our filth, _Sesna_. " The last word was pointed, as though he meant it as an insult. Was that the girl's name? Or was he cursing at her in some unknown dialect? Fiachra leaned in closer to the wall to attempt to hear more.

The girl laughed. "Maybe you could use a good roll around, Sith. Might loosen you up a bit." She snorted when she laughed, unabashed. "Oh ho, look at you! I didn't think those cheeks of yours could get any redder!"

"Will you two shut up?" A third voice. Also male, but softer than Zhejari's. "Haran'buir is supposed to take us on a hunt today, and I'd rather not spend the first hour running laps because you two can't stay out of each other's faces." He was older than Fiachra, but not by much. There was a tone in his voice that she recognized. She heard on many young men who sought her company at their celebrations on Nar Shaddaa. Instinctively, her abdomen clenched, and she feared that she had made a terrible mistake.

A quick movement from the corner of her eye caused her to whirl around in a panic. The hallway was ...I saw something... She had little time to react. The sudden movement had caused her to lose her foothold on the final step, and she tumbled into the dormitory, landing on her back with a profound lack of grace.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" There were more people in the room than she had expected. Her five new classmates all witnessed her drop into the room like a sack of tubers, and now two of them were helping her to her feet. She felt a hot flush of blood in her cheeks. Great, they all think I'm an idiot. The urge to flee from the room was rising, but she remained as calm as she could as two girls helped her to a chair near the entryway.

"That was quite a fall, miss. Did you hit your head at all?"

"No, I..." She stopped as she looked into the face of the girl who asked her the question. Or rather, what she could see of her. The voice had emitted from a cold, metal mask that covered the wearer's face entirely. She was clad from head to toe in long robes, not a single inch of skin was exposed. "I...I'm sorry. I fell."

The girl in the mask nodded. "That is correct, miss. Is your vision blurred at all?"

"Relax, Nila. I gave her a quick scan. She'll be alright. Little hurt pride, is all." A new voice. A lean Torgruta female with a prosthetic leg turned and leaned against the stone wall of the temple. "It's okay, kid. You shoulda seen these two on the first day," She pointed a thumb at the two males on the other side of the room. "Zhejari looked like he never ran a day in his life, all the tripping he did. And Khalon nearly lost a tooth when he took a branch to the face."

The Sith, Zhejari, a tall young man with a powerful frame and bright red skin, frowned and scoffed at the accusation. The other one, who she had called Khalon, a lankly young man with long blonde hair, just grinned and leaned back in his chair. "It's true, kiddo." Khalon said. "I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty of each other in embarrassing positions. Don't sweat it."

"Oh honey," A red-haired Zabrak girl, the one called Sesna, took Fiachra's hands. She fought the urge to draw her hands away, but Sesna obviously had little understanding of personal space. "Don't you worry that pretty face a bit. What's your name, hon?"

"I'm...Fiachra."

"That's a very pretty name, Fiachra. I'm Sesna. This," she gestured to the robe-clad girl in the mask. "Is Nila-Om, from Voss. The one with the leg back there is Kaikorero. The blonde who is way too excited about this being a co-ed dorm is Khalon. And the bubbling mess of testosterone with the stick up his butt is Zhejari." Sesna smiled at her. "Welcome to the Academy!"

Fiachra managed a weak smile and waved to the group. She was cursing herself for being unable to think of something to say. Thankfully, she was saved from that interaction by the sound of a loud horn blaring from outside.

"Finally." Zhejari tugged at his gloves, ensuring they were in place. "I cannot believe we don't have an open kitchen here."

"Dinner time, new kid." Kaikorero said as she headed for the stairs. "Get a move on."

Sesna helped Fiachra to her feet, and put an arm around her waist as she walked her over to the stairs. Fiachra was wildly uncomfortable with this contact, but was too afraid to say something about it. "Chow time. Come on, I want to hear all about you."

Khalon smirked as they passed his chair. Sesna made a rude gesture towards him. "Kiss my butt, Khalon."

"Ask me nicely." The boy leaned forward in the chair, dropping its front two legs back on the floor and propelling him into a standing position.

A moment later, the newest class of the Halcyon Academy was upstairs around the dinner table, enjoying their salads and steaks, arguing and flirting. The dorm the left behind was empty.

Or so it seemed.

Had any of the class been present, they might have heard a quiet, satisfactory chuckle float through the air.


	5. Chapter 5

There were days when Lothärius did not want to get out of bed in the morning. Those days were special, because he altered his morning routine ever so slightly.

Every day, at 0600 hours, the Commander woke in his modest quarters and quickly prepared a light meal of eggs and toast. He reviewed the holonet news on his datapad while drinking a cup of coffee. After breakfast, he cleaned up the dishes and packed away the table, making space for his regimen of stretches and exercises. He kept pace with the same series of crunches and pushups that he had done as a young man. He took pride in the fact that he could still pull off the same workout every morning, and yet he was acutely aware that every morning his body ached just a little bit more afterwards each day.

He took a quick shower in lukewarm water, and dressed himself in the uniform he had pressed and laid out the night before. He took great care in grooming his hair and mustache, not a single strand out of place. When he felt that his appearance was adequate and appropriate for a man with his responsibilities, he left his quarters and made his way to the bridge of the Order of Mercy's flagship.

This was where the change in routine was prevalent. On an average day, he would proceed directly to the bridge to hear the overnight report from the night's watch captain. He would sign off on the record logs and then proceed to the shuttle that would take him down to the surface of Yavin IV, where the Order's main headquarters lay hidden deep in the jungle.

On those special days, however, when getting out of bed was particularly difficult, Lothärius allowed himself a detour.

Since their break with the Republic over five years before, most of the ship's crew had been lost. Most had retained their first loyalties to the Republic, which Lothärius could not fault. The few that stayed behind with the Order were good men and women, but they lacked the manpower to work the entire Valor-class cruiser. To help fill in the gaps, Lothärius had commissioned some of the Order's more tech-savvy members and allies to automate the ship as much as possible. In some cases, simple labor-class droids were sufficient to maintain the engines and equipment. Low-awareness Virtual Intelligences were programmed and uploaded to help run the essential functions, running in conjunction with and under the supervision of the sentient crewmen.

Despite all of this, several decks of the ship had been shut down and marked as off limits to personnel. The lower decks were filled with miles of empty hallways and corridors, quiet and solitary. It was here that Lothärius would sometimes sneak away to, before his obligation to his command carried him away for the day. In an abandoned hangar, Loth had hidden away an old swoop bike. It was badly damaged, rusted and weary. Several burns of old blaster scorch marks painted the hull, and it looked like it would have been right at home in a scrap heap.

Still, over the years, Lothärius had been slowly restoring it. He would come down here, remove his jacket, and spend five or ten minutes with the bike. Sometimes he brought along a spare part or power cell, or sometimes he would just grab a rag and start gently working the burns out of the hull. It was his secret pleasure, and while he could not disappear for too long without raising suspicion, it was good for his state of mind to get away for a few moments. It was a quiet and personal time for him, in a galaxy that rarely afforded him that luxury.

Before long, he would clean his hands in a nearby trough, don his jacket and return to the bridge, where his day would officially begin. But on those days when he got to his office just a few minutes later than usual, he felt only then that his day had gotten off on the right start.

* * *

As he entered the office, he was greeted by young Cathar male in a dusty jacket and a peaked cap. He offered a sharp and smart salute to the Commander. "Good morn, General. Didja get a good night's sleep, then?"

"Just 'Commander' now, Jodoc. I haven't been a General in some time." He shook the Cathar's hand and gestured for him to take a seat. "I slept very well, thank you."

Jodoc sat back in his chair and lit a cigarra. "Of course, sir. Old habits do die hard." He grinned at Lothärius, blowing a whiff of smoke through his teeth. "What can I do for ye?"

The older man settled in his chair, allowing his eyes to shut for a moment as he prepared his thoughts. "I need your help, old friend. I am..." he chose his words carefully, "...beset on all sides by trouble. And I need another pair of eyes in the field."

Jodoc considered this for but half a second before nodding. "I'm all yours, then. Was getting tired of merc work anyways. Nae in my nature, you know?" He leaned back in the chair. "What's the job?"

"This clan I've signed on with. They are good people, mostly. And they have so much potential. The Halcyon's could have conquered the galaxy several times over by now, I'd think, if it weren't for the fact that they are all, down the the very last one, intense drama queens."

Jodoc snorted at that, and coughed on his cigarra. "Wasn't expecting that." He waved the smoke from his face and coughed again, laughing through the pain. "You've got a way with words, don't you?"

Lothärius shrugged and sat back. "It'd be funny if it wasn't so damn dangerous. The family problems these people come up with, more often than not there's blood involved, and I'd like you to help me make sure that as little of it spills out as possible."

The Cathar looked at him nervously. "I've ne'er been a very good babysitter, Loth. What is it you expect me to do?"  
"You are going to help me identify problems before they become problems. These people, I swear, they are like children sometimes, and if we expect the Order to gain any traction, then we need them focused on the cause, and not bickering and/or stabbing each other."

Jodoc nodded. "Alright then. Suppose I can give it my best. What do I need to know?"

Lothärius sighed and pulled out a heavy binder from his drawer. He dropped it on the desk, where it landed with enough force to rattle everything on the surface. "This is as much as I could piece together of the Halcyon Clan's history. We'll go through it together."

Jodoc eyed the stack of papers nervously. "I shoulda packed a lunch."

* * *

"So, wait, what happened to Oryon then? Was he executed?"

Night had fallen on the forest moon, and Lothärius and Jodoc were only now reaching the final entries in the dossier. Sleeves were rolled up, the remains of dinner were cluttering the office, and the ashtray near Jodoc was practically full.

"No, Asmodeus used his connections to have Oryon imprisoned on Belsavis." Lothärius looked up at Jodoc and pointed at him. "That's classified, by the way. I don't know who all knows that."

Jodoc flipped back a few pages. "And this is the same Asmodeus that I've seen out there waterin' the tatties all day? The big red lug?"

Lothärius nodded. "The death of Calliope hit him very hard. Greatest warlord the galaxy ever saw, now a humble gardener and pacifist."

Jodoc twisted his head and widened his eyes in disbelief. "That's wild, mate. Every word of this nonsense is wild. It's no wonder you wanted some backup on this."

Lothärius nodded again. "It's more than a little insane, there's no question. But I've been living that insanity for several years now. There is great potential here, but we've got to make sure it gets used the right way. No more self-destruction."

"So..." Jodoc lit another cigarra. "How exactly do you plan to pull this off? I cannae just walk in as a stranger and start policing these people. They don't know me."

"Well...that's the part I've been saving for last. I've arranged for you to be inducted."

"Eh? What's that then? I'm joining your organization?"

"Well, yes." Lothärius smiled at him. "More than that. You get to join the family."

Jodoc's mouth fell open, and the cigarra fell to the floor.

"Oh pish it all."


	6. Chapter 6

The jungles of Yavin 4 were a dangerous place under any circumstances. The moon had its own series of natural predators and environmental hazards, and the native Massassi tribals had no interest in letting outsiders pass through their lands without harm. Beyond the natural threats, the jungle moon also had a long history of ancient Sith involvement. Scattered temples and ruins held pockets of malevolent dark side energy, twisting the plant and wildlife into horrendous and corrupt reflections of what they might have been. Madness and death awaited those who wandered too far where they did not belong.

For this day's training, a full two dozen individuals associated with the Halcyon Academy were wandering far from where they belonged. Six teams of four wandered the jungle, each comprised of one new student to the academy, accompanied by a team of three Dawnbreakers each. The goal was to capture an artifact that Haran'buir had hidden deep inside one of the old crumbling temples and return to the Academy instact. This was a live-fire exercise, and the students were encouraged to use any means necessary to slow their opponents down.

What began as a mad dash through the forest quickly slowed to a cautious crawl. The Dawnbreaker soldiers were armed with blaster rifles set to stun, but were only allowed to fire at the command of their team leader. As such, the test became as much a lesson on tactics as it did on prowess. One of Fiachra's team members was the first to go down, struck by a stun bolt from Zhejari's team. Not knowing how to proceed, Fiachra ordered the other two Dawnbreakers on her team to carry the third until he could be revived. This had slowed her down considerably as they slowly crept through the brush.

Khalon and Sesna had reached something of a stalemate about a kilometer inwards. They had each other pinned down under cover, and neither felt that they could get away without losing at least one soldier in the process. As such, both teams were keeping careful watch on each other, occasionally lobbing insults and taunts, each trying to provoke the other into leaving their cover.

No one had seen nor heard from Kaikorero nor Nila-Om since the exercise began. Both had led their teams immediately into the forest and disappeared. Because of this, it was Zhejari who led his team into the ruins and emerged victoriously with the golden idol their Mandalorian teacher had hidden inside. Zhejari approached this victory with his usual humility.

"This is ridiculous! Was there any question who would win?" The young Sith held out the idol and exclaimed "I am Zhejari, a true Sith Lord! You pit me against children and miscreants and expect them to have a chance?" He raised the idol over his head. "I am above this petty tests! Give me a true challenge!"

It was at this moment that a hydraulic piston could be heard firing, and with one smooth motion a grappling claw snatched the idol from Zhejari's grip.

The Sith stared at his empty hand in confusion. One of his Dawnbreaker soldiers chimed in. "Sir? We still have to return the item to base in order to get the win, sir." Zhejari's face twisted to anger and roared in protest.

Kaikorero, however, allowed herself a giggle as she worked the power winch in her cybernetic leg. She had been perched in tree near the temple opening, waiting for her opportunity. The claw released the idol into her hands as the winch retracted the cable, and she called down to her soldiers on the lower branches. "Alright boys and girls, open fire!"

Zhejari and his men were forced to take cover as a maelstrom of stun bolts rained down upon them from the nearby tree cover. Kaikorero quickly descended the tree and made a beeline towards the Academy, leaving her Dawnbreakers behind to cover her exit. This proved to be a tactical error, as she made it no further than a hundred meters.

Kai's earpiece detected movement nearby, and she immediately stopped running, wary of a trap. She tucked her prize away in her knapsack, and palmed a flash grenade in her hand. If she covered her eyes before hitting the flash, she would gain a couple seconds of head start, enough to suss out who was nearby before they could snatch the idol away from her.

Movement the brush behind her. Kaikorero quickly spun around, covering her eyes with her arm and dropping the flashbang. There was a loud pop!, and the world went white. Her eyes still covered, Kaikorero took a step forward, and was immediately struck in the chest, knocking her on her back. She uncovered her eyes to reveal Nila-Om standing above her.

"Right. I didn't think about the mask. Flash didn't affect you at all, did it?"

"It was a calculated risk, you took. It might have worked, had it not been me who ambushed you." Nila-Om's voice emitted from behind the emotionless face of the mask she always wore. "I'll be taking the idol now."

Kaikorero grinned. "Ambush this." Her left foot spun completely around, as no organic limb could do, and a rocket blast slammed against the ground with enough force to flip Kaikorero over completely. Halfway through the somersault, she pulled a taser dart from her belt. However, she underestimated her opponent's speed. Before Kai could even land back on her feet, Nila-Om had passed beneath her and deftly pulled the idol from her pack. By the time Kaikorero was right side up again, Nila-Om was already gone.

"What?" Kai turned around, wondering what she had just seen. "No...wait.. WHAT?"

Nila-Om was fast, and she had warned her team to hang back so that when she recovered the prize, she would not be leaving them behind. They were ready and waiting for her near the edge of the forest when she sprinted through the treeline. As fast as she was, however, there was one thing that was definitely faster.

KRACKA-THOOM!

A bolt of lightning struck the ground before her, sending her tumbling backwards, her robe singed and smoldering. Instinct served her well, and she rolled out of the way of a second blast that blackened and burned the ground she was laying on. From above the treeline, Zhejari came floating around, coming to land between her at the Academy borders. His face was twisted with anger, and he said nothing, but held out his hand for the idol.

Nila-Om's emotion could not be read behind the mask, but when she grabbed her training saber and held it up between them, Zhejari got the intention. He grit his teeth and raised his hands.

"Ke'pare!"

The voice cut through the air. Immediately the Dawnbreakers present snapped to attention. Haran'buir, clad in his customary green armor and helmet, dropped from outcropping above and landed between them. "The contest is over. Sheathe your weapons."

Nila immediately put away the saber, and held the idol with both hands. Zhejari, furious that his victory had been snatched away from him, scoffed and folded his arms. Haran looked to the Dawnbreakers present, and gave a quick nod. "Find the others."

Moments later, the students were reunited in the grass clearing on the outskirts of the Academy. Khalon and Sesna had emerged from the forest with grass in both of their hair, and little extra flush in each of their cheeks. The soldiers that accompanied them seemed annoyed. Fiachra had refused to look up at her classmates, feeling shame at being knocked out of the race so soon. Kaikorero was side-eyeing Nila-Om, impressed that she had gotten the drop on her. And Zhejari, in his usual manner, was fuming.

Haran'buir took the idol from Nila-Om and addressed the team. "Lesson is done for today. You all failed. Tomorrow you will make up for your failure." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Anyone who can tell me why they failed, tomorrow, will receive partial credit. You are dismissed."

The Mandalorian turned and began to head back to camp. His Dawnbreaker soldiers fell in step behind him, leaving the six students to grumble and avoid eye contact with each other.

After a moment of silence, Khalon piped in, nudging Sesna.

"I guess I know why we failed."


	7. Chapter 7

"Ow! Easy, mate. That hurt!"

Haborym snorted. "Baby." He had barely cut this patient, and he still complained as though Haborym had cut off his hand. "I needed a biopsy of this mole on your back. You don't want to let these things go, you know. Ruins the meat." Haborym set the tissue sample down on his workbench and grabbed another bite of meat chips, his favorite snack.

"I don't even want tae ask how you know that." Jodoc rolled his shirt back down and looked around the disheveled medbay he found himself in. "Still can't believe I'm on an Imperial ship. Nobody shooting at me."

"Yeah well, we here at Halcyon Incorporated™ take the health and safety of our members very seriously." He studied the datapad readout of Jodoc's vitals and took another bite of his snack. "You're pretty spry for an older guy."

The Cathar frowned. "Hey now, I'm not that old."

"You worked with Lothärius back in his day, right? And he's like, two hundred years old, right?"

Jodoc looked at the strange man incredulously. "Are you even a real doctor?"

Haborym ate another meat chip. "Not even close. But I've got a thing for anatomy." He grinned at the newest Halcyon clan member. "Now then, let's take a look at that tissue sample. Don't want you getting anything nasty growing out of that lump on your back, yeah?"

"I can think of worse fates." Jodoc felt wetness on his back, and patted the sensitive area on his shoulder where Haborym had taken the sample from. "Jaysus, I'm still bleeding! Did you even bandage this?"

"Um...that may not be our only problem." Haborym was standing in front of the workbench, not moving. His eyes drifted back and forth between the glass slide that had previously held Jodoc's tissue sample, and the box of meat chips that he had been snacking from. Back, and forth.

A drop of sweat formed on his brow. He looked left, at the empty slide, and right at the box of snacks that seemed to have at least one too many meat chips left in it. "Um...so, funny story."

* * *

Lothärius had been in the middle of a meeting with Michael Halcyon, the previous commander of the Order of Mercy, when his holocom rang. An urgent transmission from Jodoc. "Excuse me, Michael, I should take this."

"Sure, go ahead." The Jedi crossed his legs and looked around Lothärius' office.

Loth clicked on the holocom to find a furious Jodoc shouting at Haborym. "YOU ATE ME!"

"Only a little!" The faux doctor pleaded back. "It's not like you wanted it back!"

Jodoc turned back to the holocom and demanded of Lothärius. "What the hell 'ave ye gotten me into?"

The Commander stared at the transmission in confusion, vaguely aware that his guest was covering a smile in his hand. "I...don't even know how to respond to that, Jodoc."

"Your doctor here cut off a piece o' me and ate it!"

Haborym's face took over the transmission, "It was an accident, I swear! He tastes just like my favorite snack! And that mole looked way too much like one."

Jodoc pushed Haborym out of the way and the two began yelling at each other. Lothärius sighed and cut the transmission. He turned to Michael. "Is it too late to decline your offer to take over?"

Michael laughed, something he had not done in some time. "Hey, trust me, you are getting off easy compared to some of the crap we had to put up with." The mirth dropped from his face, and his voice leveled out. "Listen, I didn't ask to speak with you to reminence, however. We have...a potential situation that you should be aware of."

Lothärius set down the holocom and leaned back in his chair. "You said this had something to do with one of your new students?"

Michael frowned, and nodded. "Yes. One of them, well, it was not by accident that she was inducted. She sought me out, actually. I wasn't aware she even existed." Michael rubbed his forehead in discomfort. "If I had known, I would have gotten her off that planet years ago."

Lothärius folded his hands together. "Cut to the chase, Michael. What is it about this girl?"

Michael looked up, his brow furrowed. "Her father. He's a threat. To all of us."

Lothärius studied the datapad carefully. "This is her? 'Nila-Om'?" He pronounced the name slowly, carefully. "She's Voss, isn't she?"

Michael shook his head. "Half Voss. And apparently you'd never know it to look at her. She looks just like her father."

"Well, who is her father?"

* * *

Far away, deep in the deserts of Tatooine, a tall Togruta man with golden skin stood on the edge of a dig site. Day and night, a team of jawas and locals labored to uncover the ancient temple beneath them. The work was slow, but Zahavi cared not. His time was endless. His focus was endless. And he would take as long as he needed to ensure the eradication of the Halcyons, and everyone associated with them.


	8. Chapter 8

Zahavi wanted to speak. His work here would have been so much cleaner if he had his true voice returned to him. It would have been better if he could have hired a team to dig up this ancient Rakata site in the desert. With his true voice, he could have explained the necessity of the work, and how vital it was that they assist. They may have joined up of their own free will if Zahavi could have spoken to them.

Instead, they toiled day and night with a blank stare in their eyes. This crew of unfortunates, vagrants, the lowly, they mumbled faintly about their work as they dug and cleaned and brushed away a thousand years of sand. Several had gone blind, many more had worn their fingers down to nubs. Their minds were no longer their own. Not even when Zahavi rounded them up in a recessed section of the dig site did they comment. They shuffled mindlessly to where they were directed, ignoring each other, with a singularity of purpose.

Zahavi wanted to speak. He wanted to thank them for their service. He wanted to assure them that the work they did here would to secure the future for countless generations. He wanted to comfort them, to give them some hope that their lives had been given in service to a greater good, that their sacrifice did not come at the hands of a random and uncaring universe, but rather preserving the lives of countless men, women, and children in a future age.

Zahavi wanted to tell them all of this. But he could not. Instead, he looked over the gathered minds he had enslaved and spoke the one word that was given to him to say.

" **Kill**."

Without a beat of hesitation, the slaves turned on each other. Pickaxes and shovels that had been used to unearth this ancient site now rended flesh and cracked bones. A brutality none of them had ever known washed over them, and they tore at each other with the mad fervor of the damned.

Zahavi wished not to see, but he did not move. He owed them this, at least. One set of eyes would witness their sacrifice, and remember their faces. He watched as the mob ripped itself apart. And when the final victor of the fight succumbed to his wounds and passed on, Zahavi picked up a shovel and set about covering the mass grave. He wanted to speak, but he said nothing. His only remaining Word was reserved.

* * *

Fiachra slipped away from the dormitory, wrapping herself in a cloak and covering her head with a hood. The last few nights at the Academy had been miserable. Staying in such close quarters with the other students had finally started to wear on them, and the bickering and yelling was making it difficult to get any sleep.

Ever since the test a few days ago, in which their teacher Haran'buir had declared them all failures, the students had been quick to find reasons why others had caused them to fail. Zhejari in particular felt cheated, as he had been the first to retrieve the idol, and was well on his way to recovering it when the test had been ended. He held particular ire for Sesna, who had seemingly seduced Khalon to distraction instead of participating in the trial. Sesna, in turn, scolded Zhejari for the assumptions he made about her character, and refused to engage in any meaningful discussion.

Kaikorero and Nila-Om seemed civil enough, but both were finding their own grievances with the group as well. Kaikorero kept a nest of clutter in her corner of the room, and it was constantly spilling over into Nila's perfectly maintained section. On more than one occasion, Nila had mistaken some of Kaikorero's possessions as junk, and had disposed of them over the waterfall that sat outside the dormitory balcony.

Tensions were building, and Fiachra was having a difficult time concentrating on her studies. Yet on these pleasant nights, the air was cool, and it did not take long to walk out of earshot of angry voices. Past the training circle, down the hill a ways, there was a lovely little stream that cut through the tall grass, coming to rest at a pond near the edge of a cliffside. It was a private, quiet area, and Fiachra had found it much easier to pack a bedroll and sleep out here than to stay in her assigned quarters. Of course, she had to wake up early, as the sun rose over the treeline, and sneak back inside before the day's lessons began, but she felt this was a small price to pay for a night of good sleep.

She was unaware, however, that she was not the only one on campus who enjoyed sleeping under the stars. So she was greatly startled when she lay against a mossy stone and heard it grunt under her weight. She shrieked and jumped to her feet, pulling a dagger from her belt. A hand emerged from beneath the stone and gestured to her in a sign of peace. "Wait!"

She watched in horrified embarrassment as the stone got to its feet, clearly a humanoid male, and took a swig from a bottle concealed in his dirty and grass-stained robes. He swallowed the gulp of a foul smelling whiskey and tucked the bottle back into his vest. He then turned to Fiachra and made an inviting gesture. "Okay, you can stab me now, if you still want to."

"Wh...who are you?" Her voice trembled. She was no fighter, and she did not know if she should be threatening or apologizing.

The older man sleepily rubbed his eyes and looked her up and down. "I'm...the one you pulled a knife on after trying to lie down on me. That's...you know...mixed signals."

Her face flushed. "I'm sorry. You startled me." She put the knife back in its sleeve on her belt. "I'm Fiachra." She made a short, quick bow as she had been taught in Professor Volaro's Civil Studies class. "A pleasure to meet you."

The older man raised an eyebrow, sizing her up. "Bersk."

"Pardon me?" She was confused. Was he telling her to bersk? Was this a command, somehow asking her to make up for her mistake? How does one 'bersk', anyways?

"That's my name. Bersk. B-E-R-S-K. Rhymes with...I don't know. Something, I think." He sat back down on the mossy patch next to Fiachra's bedroll and pulled out the bottle of whiskey again. "Don't mind me. You can still sleep here. Just, you know. Not on me. Think Michael might kick me off campus for good if he saw that."

Mortified, Fiachra scooped up her bedroll and fled back towards the Academy. Better to toss and turn than to spend a night next to this foul-smelling drunk.

"Okay. Good night!" He called after her. He took another swig of his drink and spoke in a mock conversational tone. "See boss? I'm great with kids."

* * *

Not everyone in the Academy was preparing for rest. In the tactical room, Michael and Haran'buir were going over the analysis of the trial several days before. Eyebot cameras had picked up most of the details, and they were learning quite a bit about the new students.

"Kaikorero had the best tactical plan, using her squad of Dawnbreakers to cover her escape with the idol she stole from Zhejari." Michael noted Kaikorero's accuracy with the grappling hook that had snatched the prize away from Zhejari's hands.

"Agreed. But the goal was to recover the idol and return to base with your full squad. She left hers behind. As did Nila-Om and Zhejari both." Haran was unimpressed with the results of this trial, and had stood behind the failing grade he had given the entire class.

Michael pointed to white dot on the holomap before them. "Fiachra took care of her group, staying with the 'injured' squad member."

"But it took her out of the game entirely. And by trying to protect the other two, she sacrificed movement. She was barely halfway into the forest when the match ended." He pointed to the red and blue dots on the east side of the map. "And don't even get me started on these two. They'd rather make out then take the test seriously."

"I don't know," Michael countered. "Look at Sesna's squad. They were moving into a flanking position on Khalon's team. She might have been orchestrating a distraction to break the stalemate they had found themselves in."

"So her tactics are fine when fighting horny teenage males. Give her a medal." Haran was frustrated with this line of analysis. He was used to training Mandalorians, not civilians. "Zhejari demonstrated some real power going after Nila-Om. I noticed you weren't real crazy about that."

Michael shook his head. "Zhejari comes from a noble Sith family. The Dark Side is strong with him. It allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement, and someone could have gotten seriously hurt in that thunderblast he conjured."

"He was going after Nila, who had taken the idol from Kaikorero. Let's talk about her. I've never seen anyone move that quickly. Are all Voss that skilled?"

Michael shook his head again. "She's only half-Voss, and I suspect that skill of hers is coming more from her father's side than her Voss mother." He frowned. "He'd be proud of her, if he was even aware of her existence."

"Well, whether it's the Voss training or just good genetics, the girl is an asset. She's fast as I've ever seen, and we can use that." Haran crossed his arms. "For someone who's never built an army before, you sure do know how to pick them."

Michael shot a disapproving look at the Mandalorian. "I am not 'building an army.' I am running a school."

Haran shrugged. "Call it what you want. But most schools don't hire guys like me to raise a militia for security."

Michael leaned over the holomap. "Being a part of this family paints a target on our backs. We've been attacked before, and an Academy full of us makes for a great big pile of dead bodies if we go unprotected. That is why I brought you into the fold."

He leaned back and sat in his chair, rubbing his temples. "I don't even want to imagine the kind of horrors that would be in store for these children if we weren't taking every precaution to protect them."

* * *

Zahavi wanted to speak, to offer some kind words as he shoveled the final mound of dirt over the mass grave he had filled. But he spoke not, and turned back to the archeological dig site. He approached the Rakata terminal they had unearthed earlier that morning and flipped the power switch.

Centuries old machines hummed to life, and the ancient transporter platform began sparking with energy. Zahavi smiled as the readout display flashed on, with the image of a white and green planet and a single word.

Belsavis


	9. Chapter 9

The Cathar named Jodoc was gradually growing accustomed to this new life as a member of the Halcyon Clan. The group operated almost as a commune, members were entitled to whatever they needed that the clan could provide without any expectation of fair turn or currency. If your need could be met by the group, it was, without question. If it couldn't, then you were provided the means to meet the need yourself. Within a matter of days Jodoc had a new apartment on Nar Shaddaa, courtesy of the resident shipping queen Tal'aran. He was also provided a new wardrobe and a stipend to cover extraneous needs. It was all very convenient, to be certain, but Jodoc was wary. No group creates resources this large without stepping on the toes of various gangs and cartels, and Jodoc was very curious as to how the Halcyons had managed to fly under the radar for so long.

It was to that end that he had scheduled an appt with a man named Reeve, who lived at the Academy. Reeve was serving as an information broker for the Halcyons, monitoring their communications and maintaining ties with the various organizations they were tied to. Reeve, a handsome Miraluka man was all too happy to meet the latest inductee into the clan, and had prepared a light meal of pastries and caf for them to visit over.

"Welcome Jodoc. I am Reeve Halcyon, and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you." He smiled and extended a hand towards the visitor. Jodoc took it cautiously. He had read of the Miraluka's unique ability to sense the environment around them, despite their complete lack of traditional vision. It was strange speaking to a blind man and still feeling eyes staring through your soul.

"Hallo Reeve. See you got us all set up with a bite, yeah? Right fancy digs they got you in here." Jodoc looked around the information room, temple walls covered with monitor displays and readouts. It was a strange juxtaposition, seeing all this tech adorning the walls of stone. Ancient ruins meets cutting edge. Cables and wires mixed with moss in a strange dance of melding conceptualizations.

The Miraluka smiled warmly. "Yes, I am quite fond of it. My...unique nature allows me to draw information from a variety of sources, and having them all converge at this location is mutually beneficial for everyone." Reeve took a mug of caf and sipped it happily. "Shall we begin?" He gestured to the seat across the table from him.

"Right, yah." Jodoc sat, still a bit awe-struck by the room around him. So much information was scrolling by so quickly, it seemed impossible for any one person to be able to monitor it all. "Should we...eh...be keeping an eye on any of this?"

Reeve smiled again. "Not at all. There are precautions in place that alert me should anything important arise. You mentioned that you had some questions about the Halcyon's history?"

The Cathar nodded and took a pastry from the plate set before him. "Yeah, Lothärius gave me the broad strokes back when he told me he wanted me on board, but I kind of get the impression that there were some details glossed over. You ...ah...been with the group for long, yah?"

Reeve nodded. "A few years. I was brought on a while back to help Volaro, who held this position before me. He took a more...traditional view of record keeping. He preferred physical copies, books, scrolls, he had quite an impressive library when I signed on, and I spent quite some time organizing and maintaining it. When Volaro's duties called him back to Dromund Kaas, he placed me in charge of keeping the lore, and Ive taken the opportunity to upgrade our system considerably."

"Yeah, no question there, mate." He took a bite of the pastry. Sweet and flaky, he was momentarily distracted by the taste. "Wow."

Reeve smiled again. "I keep only the best. I firmly believe that in order to perform to one's highest potential, the body and mind together must be adequately satisfied." He took another sip of the caf and sighed in contentment. "Mmmmm. Perfection."

"...Right." Jodoc was suddenly uncomfortable. He set the pastry back on its plate. "Anyways. I had some questions about the clan as a whole. Now the Halcyons originated in, do I have this right, an alternate dimension?"

Reeve nodded. "Sort of. The first eight play that part pretty close to the chest. They try not to dwell too much on what happened before they arrived here."

Jodoc took out his notebook. "Now, the first eight, those are Asmodeus, Michael, Haborym, Rodeo, Barrow, Mitvekzuk, Elder and Oryon, yes?"

"Yes, the rest of us obviously originated in this galaxy, born and raised here, and were brought into the clan after."

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Jodoc flipped back a few pages. "The Halcyons used to exhibit some kind of extra-natural abilities, as a leftover from the passing into our galaxy?"

"Correct. As well as being unnaturally long-lived, most Halcyons were able to feel the Force in a way that few could, giving them a cleaner and more accessible approach to it."

"But not anymore?"

"Also correct." Reeve took another sip. "Several years ago, before I signed on, Michael and Pravitas attempted to establish a portal home. While the device did work momentarily, it caught the attention of some authoritative force on the other side."

Jodoc scribbled a few notes. "Yes, and Pravitas, he's Michael's...brother?"

"Eh, not exactly." Reeve pushed his temples. "Sometimes I forget how convoluted this can get. In a true sense, Pravitas is Michael. He's what Michael would have been had he turned to the dark side long ago."

"Right, sorry." Jodoc made a face at his notes. This is insane. He thought. "Please continue."

"Well, whatever was on the other side of the portal did not react favorably to the Halcyons attempted to break their exile. They were stripped of any last remnants of their abilities and the gates were sealed behind them. Or so the story goes. I was not present, and can rely only on what they choose to share about that event."

"But the end result being, the Halcyons are mortal now, yah? No more of this supernat'ral business?"

"Yes, that is correct." Reeve offered no more elaboration on this point.

"Right then." He folded his notebook and looked at Reeve directly. "Talk to me about Oryon."

Reeve noticeably grimaced, and quickly resumed his professional posture. The implication was not lost on Jodoc. "Oryon is...complicated."

"First eight, yah?"

"Yes, Oryon was one of the originals that passed through the Rift into our galaxy. He and the others have a very long history together. Particularly, he and Michael were very close, considering each other brothers, along with Rodeo." Reeve frowned. "His history was Asmodeus was very tumultuous. He served as advisor for Asmo for many years. From what I've read, he was incredibly objective and logical. He often served as a voice of reason to balance out some of the more emotional opinions that tended to flare within the group."

Jodoc shrugged and asked the loaded question. "So where is he? Sounds like the group could use him more than ever."

Reeve sighed and pulled out his datapad. "Six years ago, Oryon made an attempt on the life of Asmodeus. His motives and reasoning were known only to him. When the attempt failed, he was sentenced to life in prison."

"Sentenced...in a court of law?"

"Not hardly." Reeve took another sip. "No, Asmodeus felt particularly betrayed, as you can imagine. This combined with the...unfortunate circumstances surrounding the death of the young girl in Asmodeus' apartment on the same evening, well, it changed everything. Asmodeus saw to it that Oryon was blamed for the death of not only the girl, not only the attempt on his own life, but the assassination of several of Asmodeus' business partners as well. Oryon was quickly scuttled away and quietly dropped on the remote reaches of the prison planet Belsavis."

"Now hold on, I hadn't heard this part before. What business partners?" Jodoc flipped through his notebook.

"Five Sith Lords of some repute. Each held substantial holdings and investments in the Empire. They were all assassinated in the days leading up to the attempt on Asmodeus' life"

Jodoc grinned. "Uh huh. Let me guess. All their holdings...?"

Reeve nodded. "They had entered into an agreement where each Lord's holdings would be divided amongst the rest of the group in the event of their passing. With Asmodeus as the only surviving member..."

Jodoc sighed and sat back in his chair. "Well that explains the resources then. Asmodeus must be as loaded as the Emperor himself."

Reeve nodded. "Of course, shortly after, Asmodeus retired and took a position here at the Academy as gardener and professor. All of his assets are committed to the benefit of the Halcyon Clan."

Jodoc smiled. "Its good to be the king, yah?"

Reeve chuckled and smiled warmly. "It is indeed, my friend. I hope that answered some of your questions."

Jodoc thought for a moment, and let the smile linger on a moment longer. "Just quite. Let me ask you this. Off the record."

Reeve nodded and leaned forward.

Jodoc leaned in close and whispered. "You think there's any chance that crafty old bat orchestrated any of this?"

"Asmodeus?" Reeve shrugged. "From my records, there's no limit to the man's ambitions. That being said, I don't see the benefit. He seems perfectly content to have hung up his weapons and armor and tend to the plants and minds of the Academy. If he felt Oryon was rising up to oppose him, why not just step down? Oryon would have made an excellent leader, and it sounds like Asmodeus was ready to retire anyways."

"Yeah, and now Oryon rots on a prison planet, and Asmodeus is getting a tan. You don't see anything suspicious about that?"

A monitor turned red and began beeping. Reeve quickly rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, Jodoc, but I'm afraid I have to close our meeting a bit early."

Jodoc smiled and stood up. "Not a problem, Reeve. I appreciate the information."

Reeve extended his hand and smiled again. It was a pleasant smile, a trusting smile. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you, my friend."

Jodoc shook the man's hand and turned to leave. "Likewise. I'll be around."


	10. Chapter 10

"Sir? I have a request for docking from an Academy shuttle."

Haran'buir opened his comlink. The tiny holographic image depicted one of the Dawnbreakers he had stationed over at the headquarters of the Order of Mercy. As Head of Security for both facilities, he was required to sign off on any new arrivals two either location. "Who is it, verd?"

"Reeve, sir. He says he's coming for some research items stored at this location. Shall I let him pass?"

Haran frowned behind his mask. Most of the Order HQ was deserted for the day, with various members called off on missions. He had a standard regiment of guards posted, but no one he trusted to keep an eye on Reeve covertly. "Patch him through to me."

"Roger that, sir. Coming in."

The holographic image flickered with static, and switched to that of Reeve Halcyon, one of the few people in the organization that Haran got along well with. Like Haran, Reeve worked double duty as a member of both the Halcyon Academy and the Order of Mercy. While Haran'buir worked security, Reeve was the resident information broker, so they often were required to work together with their duties, and Haran found him to be one of the few honest, kind men he had ever met. Still, this visit to the HQ was poorly timed.

"Hello Reeve."

"Haran'buir. A pleasure to see you. Requesting permission to access the storage units on site."

"Of course. May I ask why?"

"I had a most thought provoking chat with our newest ally, Jodoc the other day. He got me thinking about history, and I was wanting to do some catching up on some old data."

"Very well. You have clearance. Just be advised, the HQ is on skeleton crew right now. Don't go getting in trouble."

Reeve smiled warmly and offered a goofy thumbsup to the camera. "Roger that, sir. Reeve out."

* * *

A few moments later, Reeve was walking through the ancient temples that served as the HQ for the Order of Mercy. He had a quick visit with the Quartermaster, Mantae, who had offered to requisition some more equipment at the Order base for Reeve's activities, but he assured her that his equipment stationed at the Academy was more than sufficient to serve his duties to both organizations. She shared a quick cup of caf with her as they visited, and then dismissed himself to head for the storage units.

He reviewed his datapad as he walked. The questions Jodoc had been asking the other day about the Halcyon history, and specifically about Asmodeus and Oryon had gotten him thinking. There was much of the story that he had neglected to tell Jodoc, such as the circumstances leading to Asmodeus' fall, and the death of a young woman named Calliope. He did not like to dwell on such unpleasant circumstance, but it was his duty to sometimes see beyond the gruesomeness of truth in order to find the data beneath it.

He was still lost in thought when he approached the storage units, and almost did not register that the door was open. Almost. He tucked away his datapad and quietly drew his sidearm. Haran had said that the Order was running on skeleton crew today...who else would be accessing the storage unit?

He slowly nudged the door the rest of the way open with his foot. The lights were off inside, yet Reeve could sense a heat source inside. A living humanoid was in this storage unit, and was hoping not to be found. Reeve drew his sidearm higher, and slowly walked inside. The facility housed several different units, each containing various files and data backups, personal belongings and trophies. The intruder was near the back of the facility, in a section cordoned off for the Halcyon Clan.

Movement.

"Hold there! Put your hands above your head!"

It was dark, and Reeve, being technically blind, had the drop on the intruder. He was large, though. Taller even than Lothärius. His scent, his warmth, his aura, all were unfamiliar to Reeve. "Hello there. Hope you found what you were looking for. Please turn around, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head."

The dark figure paused, uncertain of what to do.

"I'd rather not kill you, if it's all the same to you. Please turn around, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head."

The figure sighed, and his shoulders lowered slowly. Every hint of body language said to Reeve that the person in front of him was filled with a great sadness.

No, not sadness. Regret.

The figure turned to face Reeve, and with a broken voice uttered a single word.

" **Kill**."

Without hesitation, Reeve brought his sidearm against his temple. An expression of confusion adorned his face as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

"What the hell happened here?"

Lothärius stormed through the Order's HQ. Haran's Dawnbreakers had immediately alerted him to an emergency situation back at the base. Apparently there had been a break-in at the storage unit. He charged through the entrance of the facility, past the security tape, and found Haran'buir kneeling next to a body, a pool of blood slowly drying around them.

"My god. Reeve." Lothärius raised a hand to his mouth. He had lost more than his fair share of soldiers in his time, but it never got any easier to witness. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, and turned to Haran'buir. "How did this happen?"

The Mandalorian shook his head. "We don't know yet. Reeve was the only one on site cleared to access the storage units."

"What are you saying? Reeve wouldn't have done this to himself!"

Haran stood and crossed his arms. "It doesn't make any sense to me either. But all the evidence indicates that this was done with his own weapon, by his own hand."

"That's not possible. Someone got past your security and did this!" Lothärius was barely containing his fury. "Typical Mandalorian incompetence! Never can take any responsibility for-"

Haran turned to Lothärius quickly, ready to show the old man exactly what he was ready to take responsibility for, when they were interrupted by one of the Dawnbreakers on the scene. "Excuse me, sirs?"

"What?" They both snapped impatiently.

"Sir, we did an inventory of the Halcyon storage unit, and there is in fact a missing item."

"What is it?" Haran asked, reaching for the datapad.

"A single crate of personal belongings sir. Contained a set of armor, weapons, and various medical supplies."

Lothärius felt his heart drop. "No...no that's impossible."

The datapad contained an image of the crate in question. It was a simple, non-assuming box that had been tucked away in the back for over six years. It was unmarked save for a simple tag.

Property of Oryon Halcyon.

* * *

A flash of light, a feeling of being pulled in all directions at once, and it was over. Zahavi had reactivated the transporter on Tatooine, and now found himself teleported across the Outer Rim to Belsavis, the prison planet. The greatest technology the Rakata had ever conceived, buried and forgotten for over a thousand years.

He carried with him a duffel bag that he had filled with the contents stolen from the storage unit on Yavin 4. He regretted the death that had occurred as a result of that trespassing, but it was inevitable. All for the greater good.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and descended into the lush forests of Belsavis. He had a doctor to find.


	11. Chapter 11

Classes had been cancelled at the Academy for the day while preparations were made for the funeral. The Academy students went their own ways, trying to process what was going on. Some were saying a Halcyon had taken his own life. Others were convinced that he had been murdered. Regardless of what one believed, Death had struck the clan at their very home, and certain illusions of safety were crumbling down.

Khalon and Sesna were sitting together at a bench in front of the main Academy entrance. They held each other in an embrace born not of affection, but of fear. They both knew that what they were doing was not lasting, but in times of grief, they both needed companionship, and they found a quiet solace in each other.

Kaikorero opted to remain in her dorm, tinkering with her tools and gadgets. She frowned as she tweaked the gears in her cybernetic leg. She was no stranger to death. Growing up on the prison planet of Belsavis had forced her to confront her own mortality at a very young age. She had allowed herself to move past that, feeling that signing on with the Halcyon clan would protect her from the life she had before. But the galaxy can be a cruel place, and no amount of distance can escape it.

If Nila-Om was feeling anything, she did not show it. Behind the mask she wore, none could tell what she was thinking. However, her actions betrayed her sense of security. At her desk, imported from Voss, she was gathering a series of papers and files she had taken from Reeve's command center. Her inquisitive mind felt that perhaps Reeve had been researching something that was proven dangerous, and she wanted to know what that was.

Zhejari had disappeared. When the news broke, he scanned the faces of his fellow students to gauge their reactions, and then quickly departed. Unseen, he hid away on the roof of the Academy, overlooking the entrance. He tortured himself up there, brooding and dwelling on his darkest and most painful thoughts. It was the only way he knew to escape this overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

Fiachra, however, had no coping mechanism for this sort of situation. This world, this life was all still so new and frightening, sometimes it felt that no one around her could relate to her at all. She walked the Academy grounds alone, slowing making her way towards the cliffside waterfalls where she often found solace. She liked the sounds of the birds playing the water, and the spritz of moisture that kissed her skin when she stood close to the falls. She sat at the edge of the cliffside, her feet dangling over the high drop-off. Here, alone with nature, she felt a small measure of peace.

She had forgotten, however, that she was not the only one who enjoyed this quiet little hideaway.

"Hey kid."

The voice startled her, and she jumped in fright. The ground shifted beneath her sudden movement and felt herself sliding along the path of the falls. A cry of despair escaped her lips as she realized what was happening. She closed her eyes and cursed herself for giving her peers a second body to mourn.

"Woah there! Hang on!"

And as quickly as it had appeared, the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach disappeared. The ground beneath her was stable again. She opened her eyes to find herself cradled by what appeared to be a massive tree root. She looked around in wonder, and found herself suspended over the waterfalls, several feet from the edge where she had dangled her feet. It was as though when she fell, the trees themselves had reached out to catch her. "How?"

She looked up to find the strange man from the other night standing near the falls, clutching his staff with both hands. The worried expression on his face faded as he realized that she was okay, and with a wave of his hand, the root of the tree began to contract, lifting her and gently setting her down back on the solid ground. Fiachra watched in amazement as the root released her and settled itself back into the ground at its former resting place. Never before had she seen such a unique display of power.

"Hey, I'm sorry kid. I didn't mean to startle you. Do me a favor and don't tell anyone that you almost died cause of me, okay? That might not go over well." The man who saved her life, Bersk, he had called himself, crossed his legs on the ground in front of her. "You alright?"

Fiachra nodded. She suddenly felt a flush of embarrassment for running away from him the other night. In a plight of humiliation she nearly ran again, but forced herself to sit across from him. He had just saved her life. He deserved better than to be treated like a troll, even if his ragged appearance bore certain similarities.

She nodded. "Thank you, I'm sorry." A flush of red in her cheeks. What do you say in this situation? Thank you for saving my life, sorry I treated you like a monster?

Bersk looked at her carefully, watching her eyes dart back and forth as the thoughts raced through her mind. "Yeah, I know that look. Here." He pulled a flask from his robe and offered it to her. "Drink."

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the flask. It smelled terrible, and she suppressed a gag. She looked at him, uncertain.

"It's okay. Drink it." He nodded.

Fiachra steeled her nerves and took a swig of the foul-smelling liquid. The drink hit her mouth like fire and burned all the way down. She covered her mouth with her wrist as she offered the flask back to its owner. "It's terrible."

Bersk laughed. "Yeah, yeah it really is. But it helps." He took a swig and tucked the flask back into his dirty robes. "You holding up okay, kid?"

She nodded carefully. "Someone died."

The older man frowned. "Yeah, that's no good, is it? Reeve was a nice guy. Think everyone here liked him."

"You knew him?" Fiachra found herself warming up to this filthy creature. Underneath the dirt and moss and...was that actual dung on his shoes? Anyways, underneath the mess, there was a kindness, a warmth that Fiachra had not known. For the first time in a very long while, she felt safe.

"I did, sort of. He came out here and had lunch with me once or twice. Nice guy. Brought me herbs from off world. Considerate." He nodded towards her. "You ever meet him?"

She shook her head. "No."

He watched her carefully. "You don't make friends all that well, do you?"

She looked down and shook her head again. "No."

He considered this for a moment, and then conceded. "Yeah, me neither." He rose to his feet. "But if you ever need to get away, come back to this place. You'll be welcome here. Just watch the ledge, alright?" He extended a hand to help her up.

She took his hand, which felt like the outside of a grimy work glove, grainy and oily. There was a quiet honesty in the way he helped her to her feet. She felt that perhaps both of them needed a friend after all.

"Come on now," he said. "They are almost ready to begin."

* * *

Night fell over the Academy, and the funeral procession began.

Not a word was spoken aloud, but a quiet reverence overtook the grounds. Hundreds of guests had arrived to pay their respects. The Order of Mercy had arrived in full force to show their support. Several select members of the Republic SIS had been allowed to visit the Academy for the occasion. And of course, all of the Halcyons from around the galaxy assembled to send off one of their own.

The Dawnbreakers had polished their armor to a ceremonial shine, the familiar white and gold color scheme providing a sense of order, of stability to the proceedings. They carried the ceremonial pall box that held Reeve's body through the halls of the Academy, allowing everyone present to take a moment to say goodbye, to lay down a note, to offer a final gift. They carried him up the steps of the training grounds, where the funeral pyre was prepared. Flanking the pyre, the Halcyon Clan waited with heads bowed in respect.

It was strange for the students, to see them all gathered here in one place. These were leaders of the clan they had joined, the warriors and the poets, the soldiers and diplomats, the Light and the Dark united together to mourn their loss. The six students huddled together, watching in awe as Reeve was set upon the pyre.

No eulogy was offered. A good man had passed, and what words would ease that pain? After a moment of silence, Michael Halcyon, Headmaster of the Academy and First of the Halcyons, stepped forward and lit the fire.

It burned for hours, long after the guests had been dismissed and the students sent to the dorms. After the fire died, Bersk would gather the ashes and set about returning Reeve to the soil. Only the Halcyons remained, standing a watchful vigil over their fallen brother, and preparing themselves for the future.

It had finally happened. A Halcyon had died. And nothing would ever be the same.


	12. Chapter 12

Belsavis.

An unforgiving world of jungle and stone where the worst of the galaxy were exiled. There was no sense of punishment here, no time served, no parole. The point of Belsavis prison was not to rehabilitate prisoners. Belsavis existed to contain, to protect everyone else from the deeds of evil men.

On the surface, survival came in many forms. Those who could not protect themselves sought alliances with others that could. Roving gangs of unspeakable violence reigned outside of the compounds. Territories would be laid out and contested, factions would form, and the only law was in the strength of your arm.

The farther one got from the established compounds, the stranger the dynamic shifted. Few dared to enter deep into the jungles, where the native wildlife grew large and vicious. There were tales of ghosts in the northern wastes, where the forest grew the most dense. Rumor of prisoners driven mad by Belsavis and surrendered themselves to the horrors deep in the Rakatan depths, only to return as vengeful spirits who preyed on those foolish enough to enter their domain.

Zahavi did not believe in ghost stories. He did, however, believe that one such 'ghost' in these tales was in actuality a potential ally. He hunted for the Chiss named Oryon Halcyon, one of the original eight exiles from the stories he was told as a child. Oryon was said to be cold, calculating, and deadly. But more important to Zahavi, Oryon was also said to be uncompromisingly logical in his reasoning. Unafraid to do what must be done for the greater good, no matter how dear the initial cost. It was this trait that Zahavi required. And so he delved deep into the deepest, darkest reaches of Belsavis, silently searching for the man that would help him end the Halcyon line once and for all.

It turned out, Oryon was not in the mood for visitors.

Underneath the dark green canopies of the northern wastes, Zahavi could sense eyes on him. He continued to march forward, but swept his own eyes back and forth, watching for an ambush from behind. The ambush, however, came from above. Before Zahavi knew what was happening, he was slapped in the face with something soft and moist. It covered his mouth and nose, preventing him from breathing. He quickly tore it away, but found himself inhaling a foul smelling gas that burned and choked him from inside. He drew his sword and impaled the sponge-thing that had hit him, all the while choking and gasping for air.

The attack came from above, a flash of metal reflecting off a sunbeam that peeked through the canopy. Zahavi barely had time to raise his weapon to deflect the strike, and the attacker was gone again. He was fast, faster than Zahavi had anticipated. The Togruta pulled a syringe from his belt pouch and injected himself in the neck. Immediately his passageways opened and he found himself able to breathe again, albeit painfully.

A second strike, from behind this time. Zahavi whipped his vibrosword around his back, deflecting the initial blow and catching the followup on his wrist guard. A boot found its way to his sternum, doubling him over in pain, and the attacker was gone again. The sheer velocity of the attacks was staggering. A flash of metal, a hint of blue, and then gone. It was good. Zahavi needed someone with this level of skill. But first he had to convince him.

A third attack, from the east. Zahavi was ready. He feinted left, and then pivoted on his right heel. The strike missed, and a blow came down hard on the back of the unseen assailant's head, dropping him to the ground in an ungraceful slump.

Zahavi took a step backwards, and allowed Oryon to recover his breath. The significance of the forfeited advantage was not lost on the Chiss, and he took a moment to rise to his feet and face the stranger.

Zahavi sized up his quarry. Oryon had adapted to jungle life. He was clad in dark rags around his waist and legs, bare from the waist up. A series of leather straps held a series of knives, several of which appeared to be made of stone. Around his waist he wore a belt of various trinkets and containers, no doubt filled with assorted poisons and other nastiness like the sponge-thing that he had used to open the duel. On his head he had a bandana tied over his right eye. His left eye was coldly analyzing this intruder, sizing him up.

Zahavi wished he could speak to him, to explain his plan. But his Word was not yet ready for Oryon. He was going to have to recruit him in a much more unpleasant manner.

Oryon let the silence hang in the air for a moment while they both examined each other. There were words that did not need to be said, for they were redundant in nature. Obviously this man did not view himself as an enemy, or he would have pressed the attack while he had the advantage. Through the entire duel, he had not uttered a single word, even in surprise when gasping for air. This gave Oryon the impression that the Togruta in front of him was not much of a talker. Someone this skilled and focused, tracking him down in the most deadly reaches of Belsavis? It stood to reason that this was an attempted rescue mission. To what end? To what purpose? Obviously he wanted something from Oryon. The most obvious solution was that someone wanted to hurt the Halcyons, and Oryon was the natural choice, as it was his betrayal of Asmodeus that imprisoned him here to begin with. But who? Who had the resources to mount a rescue on the most guarded prison in the entire galaxy? Even when he had managed to recover Kaikorero from here, it took every last resource at his disposal.

The silence had hung long enough. It was time for answers.

"Very well," Oryon said, speaking aloud for the first time in months. "I will accompany you, for now."

The fact that Zahavi had not extended such an invitation seemed irrelevant.


	13. Chapter 13

The days following the funeral were quiet. The Academy had cancelled classes for a week while they dealt with the aftermath of this tragedy. The students were encouraged to use this time to pursue their own intellectual achievements, while the professors and staff met behind closed doors. There were several visitors to the school grounds during this time, and it seemed that the Headmaster was constantly in his office, arguing with somebody. He rarely came out, and when he did, he looked more tired than usual. There was a sadness in his eyes, something beyond the pain felt by the loss of a member of the clan.

Nila-Om was spending this time familiarizing herself with the equipment left behind by Reeve. There had been no talk of who would replace Reeve as Loremaster, and Nila wanted to take the opportunity to prove herself. She knew that she was too young, too new to the clan to be honestly considered, but perhaps she could serve as an understudy or intern to whomever was given the role. The flow of information fascinated her, and she felt a natural calling to the role.

Khalon was spending a lot of time on his swoop bike, riding the perimeter around the campus. He and Sesna had parted ways shortly after the suspension of classes had been announced, and he was finding other ways to occupy his time. There was very little that troubled Khalon that could not be washed away in the rush of air that bathed him while he rode. Ever since being drummed out of the Jedi Academy, he had never given much thought to continuing his life down that path. However, he was giving more and more thought lately to acquiring a lightsaber of his own, if he could convince someone to teach him how to construct one.

Kaikorero and Sesna were finding a common bond in their love of machinery. Sesna had grown up the daughter of a ship's mechanic, and found a natural kinship with the scrappy tinkerer from Belsavis. The two spent hours in the garage experimenting with various gadgets and tools. Sesna helped Kaikorero calibrate the hydraulics in her mechanical knee, and Kaikorero worked with Sesna on improving the design of her custom sabers. It was a good friendship for both of them, and one that would serve them well in the future.

Zhejari was spending more and more time on the roof of the temple that made up the Academy's main hall. There was a aura of discontent around all of his actions. He silently poked at his plate during mealtimes, and interacted with the other students less and less. As much as his actions seemed to demand privacy, he was secretly yearning for a connection. All his life he had been told he was superior to other races, and yet living amongst such a diverse group of 'lesser' beings, he found himself craving their approval, and began to question the teachings that had been given to him since his childhood.

Fiachra had also found something of a kinship on the campus grounds, but not with another student. She was spending more of her time lately out by the cliffside waterfalls with her new friend Bersk, who was only too grateful for the company. Neither of them were very comfortable in social situations, and appreciated finding someone else here at home that was content to sit in silence with nature. Fiachra formed bonds with local wildlife, sneaking food from the cafeteria in the folds of her robes to feed the nekarr cubs and flutterplumes that squawked with delight as they flocked around her. And with Bersk, she found a relationship that she could not quite define. They were not attached romantically, as inappropriate as that would be. But rather she viewed him almost like an uncle. Albeit, an uncle that drank too much and occasionally smelled like pond mold. It was not uncommon for Fiachra to stay with Bersk until he succumbed to the drink and help him crawl into his bed of moss and flora where he would instantly lose consciousness and snore until morning. She felt indebted to him for saving her, but more than that she felt a sense of ownership in the hapless older man. He needed someone to care for him, and while Fiachra knew that was a task that should not have fallen to her, she looked forward to taking care of her friend.

And so it was that the students of the Halcyon Academy found their own ways of coping after the death of Reeve Halcyon. But not everyone was handling the situation so calmly.

* * *

"I'm telling you, we are under attack!"

Lothärius was having a difficult time keeping his breathing even. The murder of Reeve on his watch was wearing on him, and his calm, collected persona was beginning to fade. "We had an outsider breach our defenses and strike down one of our own in broad daylight. This has to be treated as a military operation. We have to source out who the enemy is and bring the fight to their door!"

The Halcyon Clan was taking the opportunity of having everyone gathered for Reeve's funeral to host a formal meet to discuss the future of the clan. Obviously, the main topic of conversation was recent events. They met in one of the temple structures on the Academy grounds, chairs arranged in a circle. There was no head, no council, just people. While such level playing fields felt comforting to those who sometimes felt trampled under the wills of those in charge, it was irritating to Lothärius, who knew that sometimes decisions had to be made without the approval of a committee. Such discussion slowed down the works, and in a time like this they had to move quickly.

Strangely, he had found an ally in an unexpected place.

"For once, I agree with the Commander." Haran'buir chimed in, his voice amplified through his helmet's comm system. "Every minute we sit here, the target gets further away and more difficult to track. We need to be on the offensive right now."

"Not everyone shares your point of view, gentlemen. That is why we discuss these things together." Volaro's voice continued to be that of reason. He was clad head to toe in a dark red robe that covered the top half of his face. He represented the Halcyon interests on Dromund Kaas, and his time on the political stage had done well for him. "We are more of a target now than ever, with this facility that bears our name. We must think of the protection of those we harbor here first and foremost. Running around the galaxy kicking down doors and flooding streets with goose-stepping soldiers draws the absolute wrong kind of attention to us."

Michael Halcyon, Headmaster of the Academy and former leader of the Clan pointed at Volaro in agreement. "He's right, we've only recently managed to recover our good grace these past few years, and we did it by laying low and not starting fires. I want retribution for Reeve as much as anyone, but we have to be smart about it."

"And what happens when you achieve that retribution, Michael? Will that bring Reeve back from the dead?" Asmodeus, groundskeeper of the Academy spoke. "Revenge is not a pursuit that should be taken lightly. Trust me on this."

"I t'ink the more relevant questions 'as yet to be asked." The heavily accented voice of Tal'aran steered the conversation away from a potentially dangerous area. "The intruder took only one crate of contraband wit' him. I think we need to be asking ourselves how Oryon fits in with alla dis."

At mention of the name Oryon, several members of the clan frowned and looked away.

Jodoc, recent addition to the clan and one of the few final people to meet with Reeve before his death, spoke up. "Aye, I've thought of that. Tried reaching out to Belsavis port authority to check in on the prisoner. No luck. Even if the man had stole a ship and escaped they'd still be telling me all was well."

"Yeah, they aren't going to admit that they lost a prisoner. Bad for business." Bakurro, bounty hunter and arsonist, knew a thing or two about the prison world.

"We don't know that he's escaped, or is even involved. All we know is that someone wanted his stuff." Alan, private detective and cynic, was more interested in the facts than speculation. "Its possible that Oryon had left something in with his personal effects that the guy wanted. Reeve was maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Michael frowned. "Could we even confirm Oryon's whereabouts if we wanted to? It's not likely that he's sat in a cell the past few years. He's probably been out of the wardens reach for years now. Even if we sent a detachment of Dawnbreakers to investigate, they could comb that planet for months without conclusive evidence one way or the other."

"We don't have that kind of time." Haran'buir interjected. "If Oryon is involved, we'll know sooner or later. The priority right now is to find out how this person got in and out without our security measures detecting him coming or going. We figure that out, we might get a lead on where he came from."

Michael tapped his fingers, thinking. "Haran and Lothärius. Find out what happened. But keep it under the radar for now. I don't want this blowing back on us. If you uncover a lead, we will investigate it as a group." He looked about the room. "Utilize whomever you need, but I'd suggest letting Jodoc and Alan conduct their own investigation. I want you all to work together, but from your own angles. Let's find out what is happening here."

As the group dismissed, Michael and Lothärius stepped aside and had a quick discussion in low voices.

"How does she fit into all this?"

"I don't know, but we don't play that card until we have to."

"Is she a liability? Is it possible that she was part of this?"

"I don't think so, but I'm going to have eyes on her, just in case."

"You'd better, son. Because if I find out one of your students had anything to do with the death of an Order member, I'm going to shut your little school down immediately. You understand?"

Michael frowned, and met Lothärius' gaze with hardened eyes. "You are upset. I suggest you leave before you say something you'll regret."

Lothärius glared at Michael and stomped away. He would spend the rest of the night in the quiet garage on the Haymaker, working out his frustrations on the old wrecked swoop bike.

* * *

Oryon closed his eyes and breathed in the hot, arid climate that was now his home. "I hate Tatooine."

Still, he had to admit, uncovering an ancient Rakatan interplanetary transport device to sneak him out of Belsavis was an inspired move, even if it meant setting up camp on a miserable dustball such as this. The mute Togruta that had facilitated his jailbreak was proving to be even more resourceful as the days went by. Several of the old terminals had been repaired and restored to working order, and it was apparent that he had wanted Oryon to assist in some sort of technical capacity. To what end, he had obviously not said.

Oryon had taken a few days to recoup from his incarceration, stocking up on food and medicines that would aid his recovery both physically and mentally, as well as upgrading and modifying his old gear that his silent host had recovered for him. But now it was time for some answers. He found Zahavi upstairs on the balcony, tinkering with one of the Rakatan terminals he had managed to power on.

"I'm not entirely certain how this is supposed to work, if you cannot or will not speak aloud." Oryon folded his hands behind his back and widened his stance. "But I presume you did not bring me here without expectation of some sort of cooperation. I'd like to know what that is, before we go any further."

Zahavi turned and met the gaze of his guest. He raised a hand, open palmed, towards Oryon, and made a questioning gesture. Oryon studied the hand carefully, and then nodded his approval. Zahavi wished he could have spoken, to tell Oryon what needed to be done, sparing him the knowledge that haunted his own soul. But things were as they were, and this was the only way.

Zahavi laid his hand against Oryon's temple, and immediately the Chiss collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. A thousand years of memories flooded his mind, and he struggled to regain his composure. Centuries of war clouded his thoughts, worlds on fire and entire stars collapsing under their own weight, killing trillions. He was seeing the future through the eyes of someone who had seen it, and the horrible implications of it all made him sick.

"By the stars..." Oryon steadied himself with one knee on the ground, fighting back the urge to vomit. "There is no other way..."

He rose to his feet and looked Zahavi in the eye, the knowledge of a thousand years of war settling in his mind. "The Halcyons must be destroyed."


	14. Chapter 14

Commander Lothärius was spending more and more time these days down in the abandoned wings of the Order's flagship. Several times he had come close to finishing the repairs on the wrecked speeder that kept his thoughts occupied, and on each occasion he found some reason to take an essential piece back apart and rebuild it, prolonging the conclusion of the repairs. Other times, his frustration caused him to turn a ratchet too quickly, or miss a scorch with the hydrospanner, causing unintentional damage that necessitated a rebuild. The oil stains on his hands were getting washed out less and less frequently, and his immaculate appearance degrading. His uniform had not been treated in several days, and a rough stubble had formed on his chin.

Reeve's death was a blow that had shattered them all to their core, and in Lothärius' opinion not enough was being done to investigate it. That cursed Mandalorian Haran'buir was being especially cagey about how an intruder could have gotten in and out of their headquarters without leaving so much as an imprint on the security cameras.

There was also this business about Michael's student, Nila-Om. She was obviously connected to this mess, if not directly involved, and the Headmaster continued to shelter her. She needed to be brought in for interrogation, find out what she knows. As Commander of the Order, Lothärius felt he had the authority to override Michael's wishes and take the girl by force. And yet, Michael still garnered a fair amount of respect from the older members. Crossing him could cause Lothärius to lose support, and the Dawnbreaker soldiers were technically in the service of the Halcyons, not the Order. It had all the makings of a mutiny, should he push the issue, and that was the last thing they needed in a time of crisis.

Lothärius sat down and leaned his head back in frustration. He was lost. He needed guidance from people he trusted. It had been too long since he had gathered with his closest friends. Perhaps a night off was exactly what was required. He pulled his datapad from his pack and sent a quick message to Otso and Bersk. "Drinks on Nar Shaddaa tonight. Meet at Tal's."

* * *

Back on Yavin, Michael was sitting at his desk in his office, lost in thought. It was his responsibility to ensure the safety of the students at his Academy, and what happened to Reeve was proof that it may be a more daunting task than he originally believed it to be. He had full faith in Haran's abilities, which made this intrusion that much more frightening. There were only a handful of people in the galaxy that Michael knew could infiltrate such a secure facility and leave no trace of their presence. And only one of them that could be directly involved...

"Headmaster? You asked to see me?" The familiar voice of Nila-Om gave him pause. He reminded himself that there were no coincidences in the universe, only the will and voice of the Force.

"Yes, Nila. Please come in." He gestured to the pair of chairs on the far side of his desk.

Nila made her way across the room with her usual grace. The Voss Commandos had trained her well, she carried herself with perfect balance, perpetually ready for action. Again and again Michael found himself impressed with the efficiency of Voss culture. A perfect blend of duty and service to one another, with an almost symbiotic relationship with the Force. Even if they did not share the views of the Jedi, or even the Sith, in many ways the Voss knew the Force in an almost intimate sense. It was no wonder that Oryon had held such fondness for the planet and its people.

Michael suppressed a grimace. Now was not the time to think of painful memories. He had much more important business to address. "I wanted to check in with you privately, make sure you were..." He lost his voice. This was a delicate situation, and he was unsure of how to proceed.

"You wanted to ensure that my loyalties were still aligned." Her voice was flat and calm through the processor built into the mask she wore. "It is only natural. Whomever is scheming against the Halcyons, it is obviously that they would seek to exploit any advantage they could, up to and including enlisting assistance from the inside. With my...unique circumstance, I am a natural suspect." She folded her hands in her lap, assuming a posture of tranquil neutrality.

Michael was taken aback. It was not the first time that the young girl from Voss had caught him off guard. Here he was, worrying how to breach the topic with her, and she had already sized up the situation, and himself, and delivered a flat analysis of the situation. "Well, obviously I'm not implying..."

"It is alright, Headmaster. I believe we both have accurate appraisals of the situation."

Michael fought the urge to smile. She was so like her father. "Is there anything you need?"

Nila bowed her head graciously. "I intend to assist in any way I can. I would appreciate your support."

"I cannot advocate any action that would put you or your fellow students in danger."

"I understand, Headmaster. I believe we understand each other very well."

* * *

Twin suns set on Tatooine. Oryon Halcyon was set up in his new shop on Zahavi's base. The information he had been given through the vision that the Togruta had passed along to him had changed everything. Over his long life, he had been called to carry out a myriad of difficult tasks, but nothing compared to the mission before him. How does one plan the deaths of his own clan? Men and women he considered family would fall by his hand, and with his recent history plotting the death of Asmodeus, it was unlikely that history would recognize his actions as anything but traitorous. Such was the burden he would bear. All he had ever done in his life was what he believed would serve the greater good. And that had not changed. He would not let his personal feelings stand in his way. The Halcyons stood at the crux of an essential turning point in history, and no one but Oryon himself could be trusted to make the right decision for all life in the galaxy.

Death was coming to Yavin 4, and it was his responsibility to make sure the job got done.


	15. Chapter 15

There was no curfew at the Halcyon Academy. Classes generally only took place during the daylight hours, with rare exceptions. Still, the grounds were fairly quiet once night fell. Everyone on campus kept busy enough during the days that most were welcome for the opportunity to rest when it presented itself. There were some, however, who rarely took advantage of such opportunity. Chief among them, Headmaster Michael Halcyon of the original eight Exiles.

Ever since making the decision to open the Academy as a sanctuary and headquarters for his clan, Michael had shouldered the enormous burden of responsibility that came with it. Safety and security for those he sheltered came first; yet it also fell to him to remain a leadership figure to the Academy students and the Halcyon Clan alike. He may have surrendered his seat as head of the Order of Mercy to Lothärius, who was more suited to carry the organization through a time of war; but he never stopped seeing himself as responsible for the Halcyon Clan itself. Ever since he and seven others of Halcyon descent were exiled, he and Asmodeus had always been "in charge", more or less. Now that Asmodeus had laid down his arms and armor in favor of a quiet, peaceful life, it was up to Michael alone to shoulder that weight.

Secretly, this pleased him. He was always a bit of a martyr at heart, and bearing that load had been good for his soul. It kept him focused. As the clan expanded, so too did his love for his brethren, and his desire to keep them protected.

It was not reasonable to assume, however, that one could protect others without being able to protect himself. Years of sitting behind a desk had softened him, slowed his reflexes, his defenses. To remedy this, he had begun nightly combat training to keep himself sharp. After night fell, he would spar out on the courtyard against various opponents. Haran'buir was usually agreeable to a nighttime hunt, taking potshots at Michael from hidden vantage points. Adara would perfect her stealth skills by sneaking up on him and attempting to attack him unseen. But Michael's favorite sparring partner by far was Darth Pravitas, his counterpart from an unknown timeline.

Tonight, the two men faced off in dueling posture on the terrace. Stripped down to their waists, the two men could easily have been mistaken for twins, or clones at that. Despite being nearly identical in appearance, they were very different in fundamental senses. They both served the Clan, first and foremost, but while Michael followed the path of the Jedi, Pravitas excelled in the ways of the Sith. Two sides of the same coin, each a reflection of what the other might have been.

This was also reflected in their combat styles. Michael kept his saber drawn in tight, in a highly defensive posture. He drew his enemies in close, not afraid to swing a fist when the situation called for it. Pravitas, by contrast, kept his saber low, ready for an upward slash. He adopted a very fast and aggressive stance, preferring to keep his opponent on the move in an effort to catch them off guard. To see Michael and Pravitas duel was akin to watching an intricately choreographed dance, each one pushing the other back and forth with perfectly analysed strikes.

Michael enjoyed these routines because Pravitas was always able to keep Michael on guard. Despite the split soul they shared, Michael was unable to predict Pravitas' behavior in combat. It was refreshing. He always got quite the workout when they dueled, and came away feeling tired; yet accomplished. After thanking his opponent, he would take a shower in his private quarters and collapse onto his bed for a few hours of sleep before the sun rose, bringing him back to his daytime responsibilities. Each day served as a reminder of the purpose set before him. And each day over a morning cup of caf, he would reflect on the day's scheduled activities and smile inwardly.

* * *

There was another on campus who enjoyed their morning routines. For one person in particular, the day began several hours before the sun rose over the horizon. Every morning, he would rise and meditate peacefully for fifteen minutes to set the proper mindset for his duties. He donned his robes and tended to his garden, selecting fresh herbs and produce to stock the kitchen with.

Once the garden was harvested and tended, he would carry its bounty to the main hall and begin preparing breakfast for the students, residents, and guests of the Academy. Most days began with a bowl of fresh wilted greens served atop of fried potatoes, with an option for a light protein on the side. He opted to eat in the kitchen instead of the main hall, and once the others had left, he would venture and collect the dishes. He always washed the dishes by hand after every meal. It gave him a sense of peace, working with his hands.

After breakfast, he would head to the dormitory. He would spend half an hour or so making the beds and picking up after the students. He gathered their laundry and headed down to the riverbank, where he washed the clothing of each student by hand. Once they were clean, he folded them neatly and placed them on the beds of their respective owners.

Once the laundry was done, he set about feeding the various pets and critters that called the Academy home. Down by the riverside, there was always a hungry mouth to feed. He would bring them various manufactured feed shipping in from offworld, as well as the leftovers from breakfast and the day before. Most of these creatures were no taller than his knee, Nekarr cats and blurrgs, the occasional flutterplume. There were a few, however, who resided in the caves with Haborym, who required a bit heavier of a diet. For these creatures, he would have the Dawnbreakers hunt large game from the local wildlife. There was little need to clean up after the vorantikus and the like had their way with their meals. They seemed to prefer living among the bones.

By this point, it was time for lunch, and routine of preparing and serving the meal would be repeated, as would the cleanup afterwards. One lunch had ended, he would retire to his room and read a book for an hour or two. This was his relaxation time. Occasionally he would doze off in his chair, snoring away the afternoon.

In late afternoon the meal routine would be repeated for dinner. Once again he cooked and served and washed and cleaned, all by hand. As the sun set and night approached, he tended to grounds in the cool air of the evening. There was always a patch of grass to be watered or a bush that needed pruning. He preferred to do this kind of work as dusk set, enjoying the magic hours of the evening.

As the Academy quieted down and the air filled with sound of the nighttime insects and wild creatures in the distance, he would retire to his room. He would kneel on the floor of his quarters and pray to all the gods of the universe for forgiveness of his many sins. He would reflect on the lives he had taken and the many horrible things he had done in the name of his own ambitions. He prayed for forgiveness and asked to be allowed the opportunity to continue his penance here in the service of others. Most nights, he would cry over the needless and senseless death of Calliope, the young girl whose life he had stolen and later ended with his own hands. He allowed himself to cry for a while, and then he would wash his face and lay down in his bed, slowly drifting off to his dreams.

And this was how the once-mighty, once-feared Asmodeus Halcyon chose to serve his sentence. The once Conqueror of worlds, of entire Galaxies, now the most humble of servants. Few knew his name; fewer still knew his history. He would serve the Academy, and pray that his service might one day ease the heavy burden he carried on his heart and soul.

* * *

Similarly, there was very little deviation in the daily routine of Oryon Halcyon. He spent every minute of every day plotting and planning for every possible future that could come about as a result of his actions. He had set up a workshop on Zahavi's Rakatan stronghold on Tatooine, and never let a second of his time go to waste. He dedicated himself to perfecting his defenses against any and all attacks. Physically, he had never been in better shape. Five years of fighting for his life on Belsavis had done wonders for his reflexes and body mass. From his old gear that Zahavi had recovered, he was applying everything he had learned over the past several years into perfection.

His cortosis gauntlets that allowed him to fight hand-to-hand against lightsaber wielders received a considerable upgrade in both structural integrity and functionality. Each gauntlet now carried a discreet dart-launcher that could administer a variety of lethal and non-lethal concoctions with a mere twist of his wrist. Vials of poison and kolto extracts were fitting onto his belt and were fed into the gauntlet with a loading device that could reload the darts from his hip. He was inspired by the way his former compatriot Rodeo would perfect his quick-draw. A flash of his hand towards his side and he could prepare any combination of chemical warfare.

His boots were outfitted with quick-launch rocket pads that would allow him a limited degree of superhuman mobility. He could jump higher, run faster, and kick harder than ever before. Combined with the hydraulic frame that outlined the joints and tips of his new uniform, he estimated that he had more than doubled his combat proficiency from his time before his incarceration.

But all the tech in the world he incorporated into his physical defense meant nothing if he did not prepare his mental defenses. His time with Imperial Intelligence had granted him a great degree of mental fortitude against external attacks, both psychological and telepathic. However, he had the unique advantage of a cybernetic ocular implant with a direct line into his frontal lobe. The right chemical treatment could bolster his mental and psychokinetic defenses tenfold if applied in a critical moment. And so his implant was outfitted with several doses of a nootropic formula of his own design that would auto-inject if evidence of mental or telepathic tampering was detected. In addition, the implant received an update to its firmware that provided Oryon with several alternate viewing modes, including electromagnetic and heat detection.

In addition to upgrading himself, he occupied his time by plotting and planning for the future. Zahavi would not rest until the Halcyons were destroyed. The vision that he had passed along to Oryon had convinced him that this was not negotiable. However, it was not Oryon's intent to see the Halcyon line dissolved forever. With the right plan in place, several of the clan could live through this ordeal and move on with their lives. Zahavi was of a mind to leave no loose ends, better to sever the link completely than risk disaster in the future. Oryon would have to balance the scales perfectly in an effort to spare the future from the disaster he witnessed while still sparing the lives of as many as he could.

Not for the first time, Oryon held the life and death of thousands in his hands. Some would be sacrificed for the greater good. As much as it pained him, he was a creature of logic above all things. What was best for all outweighed the that what was preferable to the few.

When the stress began to get to him, he would close his eyes and dream of better times. More often than not, he dreamed of Voss in the summertime. There he was happy. There, he had known love.

But it was not his nature to dwell. When his heart rate slowed and his blood pressure stabilized, he would open his eyes and return to his work. Too much rested on him now. He could not allowed himself to be distracted by anything. If he planned well enough, there would be nothing to surprise him in a critical moment.

Little did he know that the surprise of his life was waiting just around the corner.


	16. Chapter 16

"Cheers!"

Against the neon lights of the Nar Shaddaa skyline, three men shared a drink. Lothärius the haggard, Otso the zealous, and Bersk the haunted; together they had maintained a tight friendship that stretched back decades to their childhood, when they rode together in a swoop gang named the Hellfathers. Reunited under the banner of the Order of Mercy, each man had found his place to contribute. Lothärius in a commanding role, Otso on the front lines, and Bersk, who ... well nobody was really certain why he had been asked to come live at Michael's academy, but everyone was pretty sure he spent his days drinking in the shade of the trees.

Tonight, however, all their roles were set aside in favor of their original ties. Tonight they were brothers once again, taking a much-needed break from their responsibilities. Tal'aran had been happy to host them for the evening, providing them with a private table on the balcony. Her one requirement had been that should they decide it best to spend the night, Bersk would have to sleep outside. This term was cheerfully agreed to by all.

It was a cheerful evening, the harrowing recent events were set aside for a moment in order to allow themselves a moment of peace. There was no talk of strategy or retribution, instead they laughed at the way Lothärius kept catching foam from the drink in his mustache, or how Bersk could balance a bottle of wine on his nose. For the moment, they were allowed to be children yet again, and Lothärius was eternally grateful for the friendship he shared with them.

" Another round, gentlemen?" Tal'aran asked as she cleared the table. "Drinks on t' house tonight, you have your fill of 'dem."

"Keep 'em comin, ma'am." Otso kicked back his mug and placed it on the table. "I've got nowhere to be tomorrow."

"Hey, hey." Bersk raised his head from where it had rested on the table, folded in his arms. "Do you have any of that special brew? The moonshine Xaboki makes?"

Tal'aran scrunched up her face. "I don' allow that man's swill in my establishment. Not afta what he did. You'll drink ta house special and you gonna like it." She spit on the floor, causing Bersk to jump back a short distance. "You savvy?"

"Oh yes ma'am. I savvy very well, thank you ma'am."

"Damn right." Tal'aran turned and took the empty mugs back inside.

Otso smiled and nodded to Lothärius. "Any idea what that was about?"

Loth covered his brow with his hand and shook his head. "No idea, and I'm not gonna ask."

Otso laughed heartily kicked back in his seat. "Oh man, boss. I sure needed this."

"Yeah, hey, I missed you guys." Bersk pulled a flask from his robe and took a swig. "Should come by the academy more often. Plenty to do there."

Otso rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you've been keeping busy. Way I hear it, you're practically on vacation."

Bersk smiled and shrugged, tucking his flask back into the folds of his robe as Tal'aran returned with fresh drinks. "It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."

Loth rolled his eyes and took his mug from their host, thanking her. He did miss these two, but gatherings like this came with a price. Sitting here, joking around with his friends, it made it easy to remember the one who wasn't there. The one who had died to ensure that they could go on living. He looked to the empty seat to his left and bowed his head for a second. They always set a fourth place at their table, as a way to honor the memory of their former leader, Kuno. It was harder on Loth tonight, as dreams of that horrible night on Coruscant had been haunting his sleep for weeks now.

It was difficult for Lothärius to think about Kuno without also thinking about Haran'buir. Ever since his friend had died at the hands of Mandalorians, Loth had never been able to trust a member of that mercenary clan. He harbored a deep and bitter hatred of the Mandos, and now he was expected to call one 'brother.' It stung, and felt insulting to the memory of his friend.

"Hey, what do you two think of Haran?" He floated the question carefully, watching the faces of the other two. He knew they shared no love of the Mandalorians either, but neither of them had been forced to interact with their new clansman like he had.

Otso set down his mug, wiping the beer from his red beard. "Now why you gotta go and bring up something like that for? We were all having a good time."

"I'm serious. Better or worse, we have to work with this fella. And he's not exactly...personable."

"Neither am I." Otso chuckled. "Long as he keeps to himself, stays outta my way, he'll be alright."

"Mandalorian." Bersk chimed in. It wasn't a question so much as a statement of fact. He followed this up with a shrug. "Kuno was a long time ago, Loth. Can't hold a grudge against an entire people forever."

Loth looked down in his drink. "Michael wants me to work with him. I think he's doing it deliberately. Kind of a therapy, I guess."

"Now you tell that arrogant pasty Jedi-wussy to keep his damn opinions to himself." Otso was beginning to lose the already thin barrier between his mind and his mouth. "No hippie gonna do his -" he made a gesture with his hands, apparently exhibiting what Otso believed Jedi did with their hands when they used their power. "- on me."

Bersk laughed and slipped out of his chair, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

Loth smiled as Bersk crawled his way back up to the table. "Michael's not a bad guy. Just needs to learn where his priorities should be."

* * *

At that same moment, several sectors away on Yavin 4, Michael Halcyon was having a social call of his own, albeit of a very different nature.

For decades, he had harbored a feud with Asmodeus. The battles they fought were that of legend, decimating continents on more than one occasion. The fury and strength that each of them brought to the table had caused countless wreckage across the stars, eventually causing the Halcyon Exile that had brought them all here together.

But that was a long time ago. Tonight, Michael and Asmodeus sat across from each other as equals and friends, meditating together at the close of the day. Asmodeus could sense the great weight on Michael's shoulders as he struggled to maintain his role as Headmaster while also feeling the need to be involved in the greater matters of the Halcyon clan as a whole. Likewise, Michael could sense the deep regret and pain that Asmodeus felt over the many deaths he had caused in his long and wrathful life. None more so than that of the young girl Calliope, whom Asmodeus had sacrificed in his ambition to become immortal. Calliope, who had been granted a second chance at life, only to have it cut short by Asmodeus' own two hands, effectively killing her a second time. The pain and the guilt that he lived with eventually broke him, and it was through that brokenness that Michael and Asmodeus had finally formed a bond, a tight and caring relationship that was precious to them both.

"You are dwelling again." Asmo spoke, eyes closed, stirring Michael from his reverie.

"So are you."

"You are so damned annoying."

Michael nodded and repeated himself. "So are you."

Eyes still closed, Asmodeus frowned. "You worry about what must be done with Oryon."

Michael furrowed his brow. "I understood why he had to be sent away. What he did, using Calliope to try and take you out, that was cold, even for him. But now? What if he IS behind this new threat? How can we spare him again?"

Asmodeus opened his eyes and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I know you care for him. So do I, although he might never believe it. But we have to think about the safety of these children above all else. They are counting on us."

Michael rested his head on Asmodeus giant, meaty hand. Michael was not a small man, but Asmodeus dwarfed even him. "I know it is a sensitive subject for you, Asmodeus."

Asmodeus stood and gently grabbed Michael by the shoulders, raising him to his feet. He picked him up and held him close in a great hug. Michael hugged him back, but his arms could not even reach around the larger man's shoulders. "Calliope is my burden to bear, my friend. Not yours."

"You torture yourself over this. You shouldn't."

Asmodeus felt a warmth against his cheek as a single tear fell from his eye. "I...just don't think I could take it if another child was harmed because of me." He set Michael down and looked him in the eye. "If Oryon is involved, we must keep him from hurting anyone else. You must promise me."

Michael nodded. "Oryon is my brother, but so are you. I swear on my life, if any harm approaches these wards of ours, I'll gladly give my life before I let it befall them."

Asmodeus gripped him in another hug. "You are a good man, Michael."

The Headmaster remained silent, his eyes drifted away. If it came down to it, could he raise arms against Oryon? The man he loved as a brother?

Please, Oryon... he thought. Please don't force that decision on me.

* * *

"Hold still."

In yet another sector, on the remote world of Tatooine, Oryon injected Zahavi with a compound of his own design. Zahavi grimaced as the needle penetrated his thigh, but made no sound. He glared at Oryon as the Chiss readied himself.

"Shut up, you big yellow baby." Oryon rolled his eye. Of all the phobias in the galaxy, the fear of needles was one he would never understand. "Alright, just like we discussed. You will take control of me, make me walk around the room, stand on one leg, and then release. My bionic eye-piece will monitor my chemical balance and log the changes for the next formula. Understand?"

Zahavi nodded. He walked up to Oryon and placed his hand on the smaller man's face. There was a short flash of energy, and Oryon stepped backward. All expression was gone from his face. He stood perfectly still, awaiting command.

Zahavi nodded to him, and Oryon began to dutifully pace the room. He did so silently, with no objection or comment. After completing the circle, he returned to stand in front of Zahavi, who tilted his head. At this, Oryon raised his left leg and stood balancing on his right, his arms flat against his side. After a moment, Zahavi allowed him to lower his leg, and then released his hold on him.

There was no flash of energy this time, just a gasp from Oryon as control of his body was returned to him. He coughed for a moment, regaining his composure, and then stood straight up. "Excellent. I was able to log the entire process. I will comb through these results and see what I can do. If I do find a way to aerolize this compound, are you sure you will be able to maintain control of that many subjects at once?"

Zahavi reflected briefly on the crowd he had taken control of in order to dig out this compound they resided in, and then nodded.

"Very good." Oryon turned back to his work desk and began compiling the notes from the experiment. "The more of them we can control, the less blood we will have to shed."

* * *

"What are you saying, Loth? You gonna retire, again?"

Lothärius shrugged. "I don't know. If I have learned one thing from all of this, it is that maybe I'm not the right guy for this job anymore. I mean, back when the Order was disavowed by the Republic, we had to go underground, and yeah, it made sense then. We needed a military presence, a discipline. But now?" He shrugged again and took a drink. "These people never trusted me. They aren't soldiers like us. I'm nothing more than an overbearing drill sergeant to these people. They follow orders, sure. But I don't know for how much longer."

Otso scoffed. "Well you can't just step down. Last thing this group needs right now is wanderin'. Besides, what would you even do?"

Lothärius looked over at Bersk, who was snoring loudly on the floor. He smiled. "I do miss riding."

Otso guffawed at this. "Sure, why not? Ha! Revive the Hellfathers! Bunch of old farts on bikes, tearing it up!" He choked on his drink and laughed some more. "Gods, wouldn't that be a sight?"

Lothärius, his head spinning from the drink, laughed with him. "And why not? Better than choking back bile, trying to get through to a damn Mando. At least out on the road, we find a buckethead we can shoot them!"

 _"-y not? -etter than -bile -through to a damn Mando."_

 _Static, as the radio frequency auto-tuned itself back on its target._

 _"-we find a buckethead we can shoot them!"_

From a nearby rooftop, the crosshairs that had been focused on Lothärius lowered as Haran'buir began packing up his rifle. He had heard all he needed to hear.


	17. Chapter 17

"Oryon's log. Preparing for phase one of the operation. The interplanetary transporter harness is complete. After extensive testing on nearby planets using droid and volunteer subjects, I believe the harness is safe for practical application." He paused the datapad to write something down in his notebook, and then resumed. "The power consumption of the device is extraordinary. I've managed to link every power generator I could get my hands on together, and I still estimate only enough power a single jump per harness. At its best, the umbilical will only hold for a couple of moments before yanking us back to our home location. Afterwards, it will be weeks before the generators are able to recover for another trip."

Oryon looked at the two harnesses he had made for this operation and allowed himself a moment of pride. "It isn't true teleportation, but it's as close as we've managed to speculate. When activated, the harness will create a temporal bubble around the user. The space inside that bubble can then be transported to anywhere that we can provide exact coordinates for. This will give the user a limited window of time to physically exist in two locations at once. However, the umbilical back to the home location is unstable, and will hold for only a few moments before fracturing, sending the user and the bubble of space around him back to the source location. One of my crowning achievements, imperfect as it may be. The military applications could be incredible if the power drain wasn't so substantive. Still, it should serve our purposes neatly enough."

He turned in his chair and made some final adjustments on the harnesses next to him. "Phase one is really a two-fold point. We will be testing the harness on a long range system, using it to bypass certain...complications to the plan. As a bonus, we will continue to sow chaos amongst the residents of the arrogantly named Halcyon Academy. I think a single thermal detonator in the middle of a class session should do quite nicely."

* * *

"Come on, Nila! We are going to be late for class!" Fiachra called from the stairwell for her friend. For the past several weeks since classes had reopened, Nila Om had been burying herself in research. Most nights she was awake at her desk long after the rest of the dorm had fallen asleep, the lights of her lampshade casting orange and red against the temple ceiling, remnants of her homeworld. She had been distant from the rest of the group, and Fiachra had made an effort to bond with the young woman. Nila was kind, of course, but something preoccupied her every waking thought, and Fiachra found it difficult to penetrate that cold outer shell she wrapped herself in.

"I am coming, Fiachra." Her calming voice echoed through the mask she wore. "I would not wish to miss the groundskeepers Bioanalysis class."

Fiachra waited patiently as Nila gathered her bookbag and met her at the stairs. "Do you mind if I walk with you, Nila? I don't like being alone here. I always feel as though a pair of eyes are watching me." She gave a shudder.

Nila nodded. "Of course, dear." She ascended the stairs with a slow, deliberate pace. "I understand your trepidation, of course. It's grown apparent to us all that we are painting targets on our back by continuing to associate ourselves with the Halcyon Clan."

Fiachra held her books close to her chest, thinking about this. She asked, "Do...do you think we'd be better of leaving? Putting all this behind us?"

Nila shook her head. "Not everyone has that option, Fiachra. And I don't imagine I would leave even if I did have the choice. This is where we belong now. We must decide how we choose to approach that fact. With fear, or with dignity."

Fiachra pondered this for a moment. She thought of her friend Bersk, who at this moment was undoubtedly sleeping away a hangover. She knew he had been through much that frightened him, and yet he chose to stay. He knew where he belonged. She felt that was a lesson that she would have to come into on her own. "I wish I was as confident about my future as you seem to be about yours."

Nila turned to the young woman, and a smile could be heard in her voice. "Keep doing what you are doing, Fiachra. You'll get there. I see how hard you are trying, and the kindness you show. You keep on that road, and you'll find your place." She gave Fiachra a quick hug.

Fiachra felt her face flush, and she quickly hugged Nila back and then broke contact. "You...ah, want to get to the class early and hide something itchy under Khalon's seat?"

Nila smiled again. "Yes, I think that should do quite nicely."

* * *

"So you see, class, the Cytocidal plant is quite poisonous if ingested. The seeds, however, can be processed into a soothing balm that can be used to treat victims of severe burns, stabilizing them under an appropriate kolto application is available." Asmodeus had brought several specimens from his garden to the terrace where class was being held. He enjoyed the opportunity to teach class as often as Michael would let him. "It is an important lesson to learn, both in medicine and in people. Nothing is ever as simple as you might think. Something that can cause great harm can also do great good in the right context."

It was a warm day, and Nila had been up all night researching the history of the original Halcyon clan. She enjoyed Asmodeus' lessons, but right now she was fighting to stay awake. A quick look around the class told her that the other students were fighting the same battle, and Kaikorero had apparently lost the battle already, snoring quietly into her crossed arms.

It was a lovely, peaceful afternoon. Everything was warm and quiet, and Nila slowly felt her eyes start to droop.

 _!_

A icy stab of dread pierced her heart and her eyes snapped open. Something terrible was about to happen.

Professor Asmodeus raised another plant from his bag to lecture about, and it was promptly blown away by some kind of implosion in the air behind him. There was a loud _pop_ like the sound of a bottle of wine being uncorked, and all the air around them seemed to rush inwards for a moment before flooding back out.

The implosion had staggered Asmodeus, and he fell to his knees. There were two men behind him now, two men who were not there before. And that icy stab of dread pierced her again. For Nila-Om recognized one of the men clearly, though she had never seen him in person before. Oryon

The Chiss sneered at Asmodeus. "Pathetic." He spit the word. He waited for Asmo to get a good look at him, and then nodded to the taller man, a yellow-skinned Togruta. "Finish it." He flipped a switch on the harness he wore, and the implosion of air happened a second time in reverse. First the air flooded away from the spot, and then pulled on her from behind. The air around Oryon seemed to snap out of existence like the termination of a soap bubble, and then the loud _pop_ and he was gone.

The Togruta said nothing, but pulled a thermal detonator out of his pack and armed it. Asmodeus was still dumbfounded by the sight of Oryon appearing out of thin air before him. The Togruta set the detonator on the ground and then reached for the switch on his harness, as Oryon had done.

 _No! I can't lose my chance now!_

With all the speed she could muster, she sprinted forward, vaulting over Asmodeus. She pulled a hunting knife from her pack and somersaulted over the Togruta male, slicing the buckle on the harness and deftly pulling it off of him. He turned backwards in time to see her land on the ground behind him, and then pop out of existence.

 _beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeep_

Asmodeus snapped out of his trance and looked down at the thermal detonator at his feet. He knew what to do. He gave a final look at the students behind him, in shock over what they had just witnessed, and the grabbed the detonator and held it to his chest.

The explosion could be heard for miles.

* * *

Back on Tatooine, Oryon heard the _pop_ of the air displacement signaling the return of the other harness. He turned to address Zahavi. "I trust the harnesses are to your satisfaction?"

Yet the person before him was not Zahavi. It was a young girl, clad head to toe in traditional Voss garb, on her hands and knees and gasping for air. He had noticed her briefly as one of the students poor Asmodeus was lecturing before the interruption. "Well, that is unexpected." He gave the girl a sharp kick in the ribs, flipping her over. "You must be fast indeed, to snatch the device off Zahavi like that. I am impressed."

The girl gave her legs a quick scissor-kick and lept to her feet, pulling two shoto sabers from her belt. "Why are you doing this?"

Amused, Oryon took off his outer jacket and placed it gently on his desk before adopting a combat stance. "I have no interest in explaining myself to you."

"Oh yeah?" She snarled. "How about now?" With a single smooth motion, she ripped off the mask she wore at all times, exposing her face for the first time in months. Blue skin. Red eyes. A familiar sneer.

Oryon felt his knees buckle, and his heart dropped. "No..."

* * *

Smoke rose from the blast. The force of the explosion had been enough to knock the students backwards, but damage was contained. Asmodeus rose to his feet, his brown robes burnt and shredded to pieces, still on fire in places. His skin was charred nearly black on his chest, smoldering. He had absorbed as much of the explosion's impact as he could, but still took the brunt of it himself.

His chest heaved as he struggled for breath, and he felt a rage inside of him, a lust for violence he had not felt in years. Someone tried to kill these children. Someone would pay.

Zahavi rose to his feet. Having been facing Asmodeus when the detonator went off, he took a fair amount of the blast as well, though his armor was up to the task. Now, however, he was facing the largest, angriest Sith he had ever seen. This was no groundskeeper. This was a warlord.

Asmodeus took a single step forward, and then Zahavi opened his mouth.

"Is everyone okay?"

Fiachra was the first to rise to her feet. She had instinctively created a Force shield that spared the class the worst of it, but they were all dazed and uncertain what was happened.

And that is when they all heard it.

" **Kill** "

Asmodeus had taken a single step forward, and paused. He turned and looked back at the students, his eye burning with a strange fire as he peered over his shoulder.

Fiachra felt her heart drop. Someone was about to die.


	18. Chapter 18

There was no time to react. The improbable situation that had presented itself before him needed to be clarified before any further action could be taken. Oryon immediately snapped into his senses and incapacitated the girl with a sharp blow to the side and an injection of a sedative from his wrist gauntlet. The girl slumped to the floor unceremoniously, and Oryon wasted no time drawing a blood sample. She was the right age, and there was certainly a physical resemblance between them. But could it really be? Could she truly have kept this secret from him for so long?

* * *

A monstrous roar echoed through the walls of the Academy. They were under attack by the deadliest of all possible enemies. Asmodeus Halcyon, robbed of his free will and unburdened by restraint, now set upon the students he was teaching only moments ago with every intention of tearing them apart. The students stumbled backwards, faced with an enemy none could contend with.

It was Zhejari who decided to try. Adopting an aggressive stance, Zhejari drew upon the power within himself and began to charge with electricity. He threw out his hands in front of him and blasted his advancing opponent with every ounce of power that he could call upon. The blast struck Asmodeus across his face, forcing him to stumble sideways, losing his foothold. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zhejari sent a second blast to Asmodeus' shoulder, hoping to use the larger man's momentum against him.

The now-feral Asmodeus was only momentarily stunned, however, and quickly dodged the second blast with surprising speed. He rolled to his side and roared again, focusing his rage into a kinetic blast that sent Zhejari flying backwards. The sound was deafening, echoing through the jungle. But it was the sound that followed shortly after that called the jungle itself into action.

Fiachra, startled by the roar and fearing for her life, lost her composure and screamed.

Asmodeus, drawn to her scream like a hungry predator descending on a wounded animal, turned and descended upon her. He reached out a large, meaty hand, intending to clasp her entire head and pop it like a grape.

He would never get the chance.

The ground beneath his feet shifted and roared to life. Roots and vines from the mighty trees around them rose from the dirt and enveloped him, wrapping around his limbs and torso, lifting him off the group and binding him. A voice from behind called to the students, "Run!"

Fiachra recognized it immediately. Bersk.

As the students fled back into the inner sanctums of the academy temples, Bersk squared off against Asmodeus, riding the branch of a tree as it swung around to bring them face to face. He held his staff in front of him, planted it in the ground as he looked up at his foe, suspended in the air and fuming with rage. Bersk eyed him carefully, raising his eyebrow. Something was obviously terribly wrong.

"Hey...Asmodeus. You in there?"

The large sith lurched forward and roared, mere inches from Bersk's face.

"Right. Okay then. You can hang out there and dry out for a bit, until we figure out..."

At this, Asmodeus' skin began to illuminate a sharp orange-red color, and the vines that bound him began to smolder. Bersk could feel the temperature around them rising. "Okay, scratch that. Plan B." He raised the staff he carried and struck Asmodeus across the face, causing him to lose his focus, temporarily ceasing the burning effect. "Hope you forgive me for this later, pal." Bersk thrust his staff forward, focusing his efforts on the power of nature around him. The vines that bound Asmodeus whipped backwards and released, flinging Asmodeus backwards over the cliffside mesa that housed the Academy. Bersk could hear him crashing through the trees and brush a hundred feet below.

 _Hopefully that will slow him down a bit._

Bersk turned back towards the Academy, planning to check in on Fiachra and her friends. He never saw the shadow until it was too late. Having scaled the height of the cliff in only a handful of might leaps, Asmodeus came crashing down behind Bersk, grabbing him by the torso and throwing him with all his rage into ground. He stomped Bersk into the mossy earth several times, and then threw him off to the side, broken but breathing. He charged towards the temple after the students, occasionally running on all fours, his knuckles to the ground like an enraged primate, his mind encompassed with only a single word.

 **Kill**

* * *

Oryon fell backwards into his seat. The test was conclusive. There could be no further doubt. This young woman who had pledged herself to the clan he had sworn to eliminate, was his daughter.

He dropped his head into his hands. _Luca-Om, how could you have kept this from me?_

His mind swelled with the thought of this young girl, so obviously an outsider, having been raised in a culture that distrusted outsiders so. She would have been an outcast from her first breaths, spurned, even with a Voss mother. To have come so far, to have that fire in her eyes, she must have been strong, indeed. Oryon looked over at her, unconscious on the floor of his lab, breathing slowly. Even with her Chiss features, she looked so much like her mother. He felt a stab of guilt. She could have died in their assault. In fact, under the plan that Oryon had devised, she very likely would have been killed. He knew the future that Zahavi had shown him. He believed it to be true. To prevent the lives of billions in the future, the Halcyons had to die in the present. After everything that had happened, he bore no ill will towards them, not even Asmodeus. But his emotions had always held a distant second place to his logic, and the lives of a few were nothing when compared to the lives of so many. He even intended to allow Zahavi to end his own life once the others were put away. It seemed so small a price to pay, for he had nothing left to live for.

But now, could he really apply that same cold logic to the murder of his own daughter?

* * *

"Shhh, quiet!" Sesna had led the group of students along a hidden path around the outside of the temple. They moved with their backs to the wall, looking down at a hundred foot drop to the jungle below. Around the corner, they were able to grab a solid footing and climb to the top of the temple, where they could wait out the emergency until help could arrive. The center of the roof was a metal grate that peered down into the main hall, letting in the sunlight. From here they could spy downwards for any signs of danger.

"What the hell is going on?" Khalon hissed. "Who were those guys? Why is Asmo trying to kill us?"

"I'm more worried about Nila. Did you see the way she jumped after that guy? And what happened to the other one? The one that dropped the bomb? Is he still around?" Kaikorero was running a scan as quietly as she could of the surrounding area.

Zhejari had taken off his helmet, exposing his face. He was sitting on the roof, exhausted. The smell from the helmet was that of burning hair and ionization. Sesna kneeled in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, that was an incredibly brave thing you did."

Zhejari looked up at her, his eyes wide as though seeing her for the first time. He tried to put on a brave face. "Yeah, well...someone had to do something." He felt his jaw tremble. For all his boasting, he had never faced a true opponent before. Not like this.

Sesna wrapped an arm around his neck and hugged him. "You probably saved our lives, Z. Thank you."

Zhejari placed a hand on her back, softly returning the hug. He felt his jaw tremble again, and he could not be brave any longer. He buried his face into her shoulder and gently sobbed. She held him tightly until he was able to break away again. He quickly donned his mask again to hide the puffiness around his eyes. "Right, okay. We need to-"

A giant red hand rose over the side of the wall and slammed into the roof, his fingers digging into the stone. He had found them.

* * *

Nila-Om slowly regained consciousness, lying on her back, staring up at the clay ceiling of a strange room. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and for a few seconds, she centered herself by counting the stones that made up the wall next to her. Right around stone number nineteen, her mind cleared and she sat up with a jolt.

Oryon was sitting at his desk deep in thought, his back to her. He seemed unaware that she was awake. She quietly rose to her feet and pulled a shoto from her belt. She had no desire to kill her father, but she was ready to defend herself against him. The evidence all suggested that he had betrayed the Halcyons, and she still had questions that needed answers.

She crouched behind him, take step after cautious step towards him. She raised herself slowly to peer over his shoulder, unsure of what to do next. Should she strike him? Attempt to knock him into unconsciousness? What then? She had no idea where they were. Would she even be able to escape this place on her own, much less with him draped over her shoulder?

The question was answered for her, however, as Oryon turned in his chair bringing them face to face. Nila quickly hopped backwards and activated her shoto lightsaber, a thin blue beam. She rose it to a defensive stance, ready to engage him if necessary.

"I'm sorry."

The remark caught her off guard.

Oryon bowed his head, looking down at his hands. "I've said those words before, but I've never really meant them." He looked up at her. "My whole life, I've always known exactly what was the correct course of action. Sometimes that didn't set well with others, and I've apologized for my actions. But inside? I always knew that I was right, that I was justified in my actions."

Nila deactivated her saber, but did not put it away. She listened to him cautiously.

He continued. "It was never about what was right or what was wrong. Only what was correct. The course of action that best served the whole, even if it meant bringing suffering to a few. I had resigned myself to my life of imprisonment, because I felt that the actions I took that led me there were justified, and even though I had failed, I was doing nobody any harm by being contained far away from civilization." He buried his head in his hands. "Even now, I planned to do terrible things, because I believed it to be for the greater good."

He looked up at her. "And that is what vexes me still. Even now, faced with my own flesh and blood, the potential for a family that I never thought possible, I still know my actions to be correct. I still believe that the Halcyons must be eliminated to serve the greater good of future generations. And for the first time in my life, I don't know that the correct thing to do is the right one."

Nila felt her heart leap into her throat, but suppressed the urge to embrace her father. She knew he was a monster, a man who had done terrible things in the name of his own vision for the greater good. A man who had abandoned her and her mother before she was even born and never returned. She knew there was no tearful reunion to take place here. And yet...

Oryon fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her knees. "I am so sorry that I brought you into this universe. Please forgive me."

She was taken aback, and felt a tear in her eye and a lump in her throat. She wanted to speak, but kept silent, fearing she could do no more than croak.

Her father stood and embraced her. She resisted at first, but only at first. Father and daughter hugged for the first time, and both felt hot tears on their cheeks. "My daughter, I don't know what to do now."

Nila looked him in the face and spoke for the first time in this interaction. "I don't care what you've done, or what you think you need to do. I don't know what future you speak of, but I know that all that matters is what you do _now_. Your actions moving forward are the only things you have control over." She looked into his one good eye. "Make it right."

* * *

It was the end for the first class of the Halcyon Academy. Asmodeus bore down on them on the roof of the main hall, his arms outstretched, ready to strike them down. His eyes burned with that eerie fire, and his face was contorted with rage. The students clung to each other in fear, all of their training never prepared them for terror such as this.

And yet...

Fiachra stepped forward, between the students and the nightmare that sought to devour them. Her knees buckled as Asmodeus crossed the metal grating that looked down upon the hall, casting a shadow over them all. She swallowed her fear, looked up at him, and lied.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Asmodeus raised his arms over his head and brought them down in a mighty smash that would have flattened her completely. She closed her eyes and flinched away.

 **KA-BAMM!**

The temple shook as the ceiling grate split open, throwing Asmodeus onto his back before the blow could land. He growled with rage and rose to his feet to find Michael Halcyon standing between him and his prey. He bore no weapon, but glared at Asmodeus with grim determination.

"You will not lay a hand on my students."

With a forward thrust of his hand, Asmodeus flew backwards off the temple roof and onto the stones below, landing on bridge that connected the two cliffside mesas together. The impact of his landed displaced several of the stones that made up the walkway, and he struggled to catch his breath.

The headmaster turned back to the students. "Flee into the jungle. It is not safe here." He turned and leapt off the roof of the temple to face his opponent below.

"Come on!" Kaikorero called to them, leading them down the side of the temple. With the headmaster distracting Asmodeus, they could climb down the cliffside and escape into the jungles where Haran'buir had been training them.

Fiachra took a final look back at the Headmaster as he faced off against the much larger Asmodeus, and then followed the others.

* * *

Two ancient enemies and friends squared off against one another. "I don't know what has happened to you, Asmodeus. But I will not allow you to bring harm to our wards."

The feral Asmodeus let loose a primal roar, incapable of speech. At this, Michael unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and tossed it aside. "I will not kill you, Asmodeus. We will find a way to return you to your natural self." He raised his fists. "But for now, I have to put you down."

Asmodeus charged him, howling and flailing his arms. A sharp punch to the bottom of his chin laid him out flat on his back again. He felt warmth in his mouth, and quickly spit out a bloody tooth. The taste of his own blood drove him into a frenzy. He tackled Michael by the waist and pinned him down, bringing his fists down upon him again and again, driving him further into the stone with each blow. Michael raised his hands to defend himself, but Asmodeus slapped them away and pummeled him again and again. The bridge buckled under the impact of their battle, and bits of dirt and stone trickled down into the waterfall below.

Asmodeus wretched a stone from the walkway and raised it over his head. Michael, his face bruised and broken, looked up at him. "I forgive you."

The stone came down with a sickening crunch, and it was over.

* * *

When Zahavi approached the scene of the battle several hours later, he found Asmodeus clutching the mangled body before him, sobbing loudly. He cradled the smaller man's bloody head and wept, broken-hearted.

Zahavi wanted to speak, to tell him that everything would be okay. That he would be joining his friend soon enough. But for now, he had need of such a warrior, and there was but one way he could give peace to the mourning.

He stepped up behind Asmodeus and placed his hand on the Sith's face. There was a flash of energy, and Asmodeus' eyes glowed with a golden light.

Immediately, Asmodeus ceased his sobbing and stood, his face devoid of emotion. He turned and faced his master, ready to accept his commands.

Zahavi bowed his head in respect, and behind him, the legion of Dawnbreakers followed suit, golden energy glowing behind their visors.

It would all be over soon.


	19. Chapter 19

"This is Asmodeus, calling all members of the Halcyon Clan. The Academy is under attack. Michael has fallen. We have pushed the enemy back but need reinforcements and supplies. I am asking all Dawnbreakers and all Halcyon clan members to come to Yavin IV immediately to assist."

The transmission went out on all private channels used by the clan, sent all throughout the galaxy. And all throughout the galaxy, the Halcyons answered the call. They dropped their current missions, abandoned their posts, boarded their ships and set courses for the Academy. Their home was under siege, and they would not allow it to fall. One by one, they returned to Yavin, and one by one they were set upon by Zahavi and the ever-growing force under his control. Within 36 hours of invading the Academy, he had assuming direct mental control over a full three-quarters of all that could oppose him. All the Dawnbreakers, all of the Academy staff, and every Halcyon who answered the distress call that he had forced Asmodeus to send out as bait, they all served with those unnatural glowing golden eyes, obeying every one of Zahavi's wordless commands.

He could have simply ordered them to turn on each other, rip themselves to shreds. He could have ordered them to throw themselves from the nearby cliffs en masse. But Zahavi had a job to do, and it was not finished yet. The galaxy was not safe as long as a single Halcyon yet lived, and there was still the matter of the escaped students to address, not to mention his own traitorous assistant who made this attack possible in the first place.

Zahavi looked out upon the jungles of Yavin as night fell, closing out the second day of his command of the Halcyon Academy. He would have them all soon enough.

* * *

"I am asking all Dawnbreakers and all Halcyon clan members to come to Yavin IV immediately to assist."

The holo was playing on repeat on all channels, including the student channel. Now and then Sesna pulled out her communicator to see if the message had changed. The first class of the Academy was living out in the jungles of Yavin, terrified but alive. The wilderness training provided by Haran'buir was paying off in spades. It took them very little time to establish shelter in a camp a few miles south of the Academy. At Khalon's suggestion, they had doubled back around after escaping from the north end of the campus, hoping to throw off the trail any pursuers that might be tailing them.

They were cautious, keeping their fires contained, dousing them with sand to avoid the telltale black smoke. There was enough edible vegetation growing in the area around the Academy that finding food was not a terrible concern. Exposure, however, was becoming an increasingly credible threat. Nights in the jungle were cold, and it was not uncommon for storms to form quickly, forcing the group to huddle together in a nearby cave to wait out the worst of it.

Their clothing and robes were wet and muddy, even Zhejari had ended up ditching the heavier pieces of the ceremonial armor he wore. Kaikorero was constantly cleaning filth from her cybernetic leg, and Fiachra was doing her best not to have a mental breakdown every few minutes. She feared for her friend Bersk. He had stayed behind to help them escape, but Asmodeus had come after them only moments after. What had happened to him?

Sesna was more concerned about their Headmaster. The message that Asmodeus had sent out, obviously a trap, had mentioned that he 'had fallen.' She hugged her knees as she looked around their little camp. They would not last out here forever. There was no Academy if Michael had died while protecting them. In her mind, escape was the only viable option.

Out here, they were barely surviving. Back at the campus, they were doomed. They were rapidly running out of options.

* * *

Onboard the flagship of the Order of Mercy, Lothärius and Otso were preparing to head down to the surface when Dawnbreakers attacked. There had been no warning, no demands, no call for surrender. A troop of soldiers boarded the ship and immediately opened fire on the crew. Running on a skeleton crew made mostly of droids kept the casualties low, but there were still good men and women who fell under their fire. The two soldiers were forced into a retreat in the lower sections of the ship, where they barricaded themselves outside the Engineering wing.

"Damn that Mando! Never trusted him for a minute!" Otso growled while pushing the barricade into place. "Training them soldiers all on his own, 'course they'd be loyal to him. I'm telling you now, it's that bastard that's doing this."

Lothärius pulled a cigar from his workbench and lit it, puffing on it while looking over the swoop bike he had been restoring in this private sanctuary of his. "We don't know what is happening yet, Otso." He took off his jacket and grabbed a hydrospanner. "Have you been able to get ahold of Bersk on the surface?"

Otso shook his head and pulled his comm from his belt pack. "Sent out the alert an hour ago. No answer."

Loth nodded and took another puff off the cigar. "Then we have to assume he's been compromised. Whatever, or whoever, is staging this coup, we're going to have to handle it ourselves.

"Not entirely."

Otso drew his weapon as the turbolift doors parted. Haran'buir approached the barricade, his sniper rifle in hand. "I can get us to the surface."

Otso fired up his plasma cannon and growled at the Mandalorian. "You must think we're stupid."

At this, Haran let the statement hang in the air for an awkward second before turning to Lothärius. "Permission to enter the barricade, Commander?"

Something about the man's tone didn't sit right with Lothärius. "Let him in, Otso."

The larger man made no effort to conceal the string of profanities he uttered as he lowered his weapon and allowed Haran to enter.

Upon crossing the barricade, Haran paused at the sight of the swoop bike that had become Lothärius pet project over the past several years. The sight of it took him aback, and he paused in his gait for the briefest of moments. He then looked up to Lothärius and returned to the matter at hand. "I believe the Academy is under attack, and that our allies have been forced under the control of an outside force. It is up to us to resolve the situation."

Loth ignored the skeptical grunt that came from the other side of the room. "What makes you think this?"

"Because my Dawnbreakers would never follow a command that wasn't mine otherwise."

The statement was made in such a matter-of-fact sense that Lothärius could tell that Haran truly believed it. Still, the risk was considerable. But if Haran'buir was truly behind this attack, he could have simply struck when Loth had ordered Otso to stand down. Why bother playing the game? What was he getting at?

Loth tapped his cigar, allowing the ash to fall on the floor. "You know I don't trust you." It was not a question.

Haran'buir sighed. "I had hoped to bring this up at a more appropriate time. But this attack has forced my hand, and with Michael gone..."

Otso grunted. "What does Michael have to do with you?"

Haran turned to Otso. "Michael was the gatekeeper for all of our secrets. You know this. He's the only one that could be trusted. He knew my secret, as he knew all of ours. It why he allowed me to join the clan with little to no experience."

Loth narrowed his eyes. He did not like where this was heading. "What are you saying?"

Haran'buir paused for a moment, then depressurized his helmet, preparing to remove it. "It was in front of you the whole time, Loth. But none of you idiots ever bothered to learn Mando'a."

* * *

 _Forty Years Earlier..._

"Nobody gets to live forever."

"As you say."

The leader of the Hellfathers sped away on a swoop bike loaded down with stolen Mandalorian weapons. His leg was screeching with pain, having caught a blaster bolt in the thigh. He had no illusions about surviving this, he knew the Mando's would kill him when they caught him. But he was giving his brothers a chance to escape, a chance to live. For them, he was willing to die.

The trip was short. The Mandalorian clan quickly overtook the swoop and blasted the engines, causing Kuno to ditch the bike in mid-air, landing hard on his side, bruising his ribs. He wasted no time reacting to the pain, however. He grabbed a vibroblade from his back and squared off against the advancing Mandos. "Come on then! Which one wants to go down first?"

The fight was over in a matter of seconds. The highly trained Mandalorians subdued the swoop gang leader, and stripped him of his vest bearing the Hellfather seal. They brought him before their Ruus'alor and forced him to his knees. The Mando commander kneeled down in front of Kuno, examining the feisty spirit who had dared to rob them of their weapons shipment, and then showed such bravery in sacrificing himself for his brothers. Kuno spit in the commander's face.

One of the soldiers struck Kuno, dislocating his jaw. Another presented the prisoners vest to the Ruus'alor, commenting on the logo stitched into it. "Te alii'gai jorhaa'ir haran buir."

The commander was amused. "Haran buir?" He looked back down at their prisoner. There was a raw strength there, a nobility. Honor. Yes, this one would do nicely. "Vi Kelir gai bic haran buir."

* * *

"No...that's not possible..." Lothärius was taken aback. "You died."

Kuno, called Haran'buir, shook his head. "The old me died. Kuno died, so that you could live. I was given a chance to live a new life, a better life. And I took it." He looked back at Otso and smiled. "I always knew the three of you would survive without me. And you did. You did very well, didn't you?"

Otso stood dumbfounded, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his childhood friend had been living among them in secret for years. "But...why didn't you say anything?"

Haran frowned. "Michael felt it was important that you all eventually knew the truth. But you all harbored such a hate for Mandalorians, he didn't feel it was the right time. He wanted to establish trust, establish a relationship first, before revealing." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. Our people are under attack, and they need us. Bersk needs us."

Loth approached Haran slowly, carefully. Looking over him. Kuno had aged terribly, though Loth supposed he had as well. Unlike Loth, Kuno still had a full head of hair, though every bit as grey as his own. But those eyes, there was no mistaking those eyes. This was Kuno, his friend, his brother. Back from the dead.

Loth fought the urge to embrace him, and put on a serious face. There would be time for that later. There were more important matters at hand. "Fine. Explanations later. How do we get to the surface?"

Kuno set his helmet down on the workbench and activated the holomap on his gauntlet. "I can arrange orbital drop platforms to release through the escape pods, I have an LZ designated a few dozen kilometers from the Academy. We drop in, we scout the situation, find out what is going on."

Otso growled again. "There's no time for us to hump our way over ten klicks, Mando. How do you figure we're going to get there in time to do anything?'

Haran looked down at the swoop bike, carefully restored by Lothärius. "Oh, don't you worry about that."


	20. Chapter 20

The sun rose on the Halcyon Academy. From above, no one would ever assume that anything was out of the ordinary. The Dawnbreakers filed about in formation along their patrols. Professors and staff went about their daily routines, occasionally stopping in the halls to chat about the day. No distress call had been put out on any public channel, and so there was no reason for anyone to assume that the Academy had been overtaken by a malevolent force.

Nearly the entire Halcyon clan now served under Zahavi's mental manipulation, their eyes glowing faintly with a golden energy. To keep up appearances, Zahavi had silently commanded them to keep the Academy under the appearance of business as usual. To this end, people hurried and scattered about, without any true destination.

In the meantime, Zahavi had teams searching for the missing students, as well as the last remaining members of the clan. He walked the campus, taking mental notes on all that the Halcyons had done here. In his timeline, the Halcyon Clan had grown into tyrannical warlords, crushing the galaxy under their heels. Their battleships and reapers were forces to be feared, and had brought the galaxy to the brink of destruction on more than one occasion. It was this future that Zahavi worked to save. He had been sent here, to when the Halcyons were only just beginning to consolidate their strength. He had no malice in his heart, he sought only to eliminate the evil before it could germinate into a force that could not be stopped. It was his responsibility to bear the sins of these deaths. His soul was a small price to pay to save the lives of billions more.

After all, isn't that exactly what a Guardian is meant to do?

Asmodeus was crawling around the far side of the terrace, brushing aside piles of leaves and underbrush. He sniffed twice, hoping to catch a familiar scent. Zahavi, walking up behind him, gave him a quizzical look.

Picking up on the unasked question, Asmodeus grumbled. "Bersk. I felt him break in my hands, and I threw him here. But he is missing. No body." He turned to face his master. "Loose ends."

Zahavi raised an eyebrow to him, and Asmodeus nodded. "I'll take care of it."

The large Sith turned and with a mighty leap descended into the jungles below.

* * *

A shuttle floated in orbit above Yavin 4, taking special care to avoid sensor range of any passing ships or nearby settlements. Inside, Oryon and Nila-Om were coming up with their plan. Oryon had set up at a makeshift workbench, where he was carefully measuring and mixing various chemicals and formulas, straining them and loading them into his wrist gauntlets as weaponized injections. Nila-Om sat behind him, reading through the stack of notebooks that Oryon had been filling over the past several weeks during his time with Zahavi.

She looked up at him. This man was her biological father, and there was an uncanny resemblance between them. Not only were they physically similar, but in reading his words, she found a certain familiarity in his reasoning, in his cadence. It was unsettling to see words put down on paper that appeared to be written in her own hand. And yet, there was a fundamental difference between them. Oryon saw the universe with a singular state of mind. There was what was right, and what was wrong, and there was very little crossover between them. Logic and reason dictated all, the ends justified the means, and one's greatest accomplishment could only be setting up the future to be better prepared for adversity than the present was.

Nila frowned, and looked down at the mask that had kept her identity a secret for the past year. They were so very different, after all. On Voss, Nila had learned of the sanctity of life, the sacred intrinsic worth of all living beings. Duty and responsibility she understood, but also generosity, compassion. Things that she could see little of in the man before her.

And yet...

Here he was, preparing for an assault against a being whom Oryon fully believed to be capable of killing them all. A man whose cause he had pledged himself to, up to and including his own death. Zahavi had shown him some kind of future which had convinced him that turning on his family was the only way to save lives. And now, he had been confronted by a remnant of the only part of his life where he had ever known love, known peace. And that had been enough to force him to turn his beliefs inside out for the sake of his only daughter. There was a note of compassion in there, somewhere. There was a kinship between them. If they survived, she was determined to find it.

She approached him from behind. "What is it you are doing?"

He did not look at her, but continued to prepare the micro-darts that would load into his wrist gauntlets. "I did extensive testing on Zahavi's mind control abilities. I helped him develop a tool that would aerolize a chemical compound that allowed him to take control of large groups at once, without having to place hands on each of them individually. However, as a standard practice of mine, I also developed a counter serum to that compound. It should be enough to counteract the effects of the formula if it was inhaled."

Nila felt a glimmer of hope at this good news. "That's excellent! You can cure them if he has them controlled."

"Not exactly." He loaded another dart. "This compound only works to counteract the previous formula I created. If the subject breathed in the first formula, allowing Zahavi to take control of them remotely, then yes, this should 'cure' them. However..." He wiped his brow. "If he took control of them through physical contact, then this particular compound will do them no good."

He set down the darts and picked up a datapad. Pulling an extending cable from the side, he plugged it directly into a side port on his bionic eye patch. The datapad beeped as it downloaded the information. "I was able to create a concoction that prevents the subject from being able to be controlled by Zahavi's physical touch, based on the readings I recorded during my own experiments under his control. However, based on the way signals are interpreted in a sentient mind's neuron flow, it will not break the connection if the subject is already under Zahavi's influence."

He turned to face Nila, who was nodding as though she understood, but was obviously having some trouble keeping up. He took her hand, and carefully injected the formula into her arm. "Basically, we can stop people from being infected. But if they are already infected through physical contact, we have to find a way to snap them out of it before my serum will do any good."

Nila nodded. "Alright, so we have a plan, then. How do we snap them out of his control?"

Oryon frowned and turned back to his workbench. "So far, I've only seen his control relinquished in two ways. He can sever the tie willingly, any time he likes. The only other way is if the subject completes the kill-command that Zahavi gives them."

Nila held her arm where the injection was administered. "They have to kill someone to snap out of it?"

Oryon narrowed his one good eye. "Do not worry. No one else will die because of my mistake. I give you my word."

* * *

On the surface of Yavin 4, the students of the Academy were making their way through the jungle. The past several days had taken their toll on them. They were hungry, they were tired, and they were afraid.

It was Khalon who was the first to come to a very unpleasant realization. He kneeled down in the grass and mud, and took a look around at the trees surrounding them. "Oh hell..."

"What is it?" asked Kaikorero.

"We're going in circles." He pointed to an outcropping which gave way to a small trench. "Over there, that's where Sesna and I uh...failed our test." At this, Sesna blushed and Zhejari grunted and turned away. "We aren't far from the testing ground where Haran had us recover the idol. Not far from the Academy either, for that matter." He sat back and sighed. "We've been out here for days, and we are right back where we started." He folded his arms and buried his face in them. "It's hopeless."

At this, the students felt a collective wave of depression sweep over them. Someone had finally said it. The situation was hopeless.

"What if we just went back?" Fiachra asked. "Maybe they've got it all sorted now. They might even be looking for us!"

Kai shook her head. "If that were the case, they wouldn't be jamming all transmissions from the jungle. We'd be able to call for help, or set up a beacon. As it is, they want us cut off. And that message that zombie-Asmo put out? No way. I know a trap when I smell one."

Zhejari slumped to the ground, unsure of how to proceed. He was full of rage, full of power, but it did him no good here. Any outburst would signal the enemy to their position, and he was strong, but not strong enough to take them alone. Sesna crouched down next to him and put her head on his shoulder. His face flushed for a moment, and then he put his arm around her. They sat there, with each other, quietly wondering about their fate.

Fiachra was at a loss. She was out of her element, unsure of how to contribute. She had come in dead last in almost every test that the Academy had given her. She held back tears, wondering if she was only dead weight to this troop. Perhaps they would be better off if she snuck off on her own...

She was deep in these worrisome thoughts when she sat down absent-mindedly on a mossy stone. To her great surprise, it grunted under her weight.

Fiachra leapt to her feet in shock, pulling the dagger from her belt. The rest of the students leapt to their feet as well, drawing their weapons. However, it was Fiachra who first realized what was happened. She turned to her fellow students and threw up her hands. "Wait!"

She turned back and brushed aside the moss and growth that was hanging from the nearby tree branch, exposing a face beneath. Bersk. His face was bruised and puffy, and his eyes were red. Dark splotches along his cheek indicated broken bones in his face, and the majority of his body was concealed beneath a bed of moist soil and grass. He did not speak, but opened his mouth, his lips dry and cracked.

Without hesitation, she reached into his robe and pulled out his flask, spilling a few drops onto his tongue. Bersk gasped and swallowed, some color returning to his face. "Thanks kid. You can stab me now, if you still want to."

Fiacha choked back a laugh, a tear running down her own cheek. She kissed him on the forehead. "What happened, Bersk?"

With great effort, he turned and looked back at the students, then back up at the sky. "Asmo's a big fella. I should have packed a lunch." He shifted his weight, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. Dirt and mud fell away, exposing his torso, which was encased in a series of very rigid roots and branches. "Did a number on me. Broke most of my ribs, probably messed up my spine real good. Was only barely able to crawl away to rest down here, with my good friends." He took the flask from Fiachra and lifted it in the air, toasting the jungle, before taking a swig himself. "It's no kolto tank, but I'm alive."

Fiachra helped him to his feet, brushing the rest of the soil away. Bersk was supported by frame of branches and roots, tied to his limbs with vine. In this state, he looked more like a sentient tree from the chest down. He leaned against a stone and laughed softly to himself. "Not the first time I woke up feeling like something stomped me to death though."

Fiachra helped him sit down. "We don't know what to do, Bersk. The Academy isn't safe anymore, and they are jamming all signals. We can't even call for help."

Bersk pulled a comlink from his robe. "Don't worry about that, kiddo. There's one signal they can't block no matter how hard they try. We set this up special a very long time ago, in case one of us was ever in trouble and needed help. I figure this situation qualifies." He pressed a red button, and the comm flared to life, transmitting on an encoded frequency. Bersk smiled weakly. "It what brothers do for each other."

* * *

Several kilometers away, Lothärius, Otso, and Haran'buir were riding their swoops through the jungle towards the Academy when Loth and Otso received an emergency transmission on their comms. Hellfather private comm channel.

"It's Bersk!" Otso called to the others. "Emergency frequency."

Loth kicked his swoop into gear. "Well let's go get him."

A few moments later, the Hellfathers were reunited with their fourth member, and the younger and elder generations were breathing in sighs of relief to have found each other safe and sound. Haran'buir sat down with Bersk and revealed his true identity as Kuno to him, and the two embraced in a long hug. Otso shared his pack of rations with the students, who had not eaten a real meal in days. Lothärius was sitting with Khalon and Sesna, trying to come up with a plan to get them off-world.

"No way, we're not leaving." Sesna said. "This is our home, and we aren't going to abandon it."

"She's right, Loth. We've been through too much already. We aren't going to slink away."

Otso smiled at Loth. "Can't argue with them, chief. You would have made the same argument when we were their age."

Loth covered his face with his hands. "You exhaust me, and we don't have time to argue about it. Fine, you can help, but I want you guys out of firing range."

"Screw that." Kaikorero piped in, recharging the blaster packs in her pistols. "If there's going to be a fight, we're going to be in the middle of it, old timer. Count on it."

"We still don't know how we are even going to get close enough to the Academy to recon. We don't even know really what is going on." Loth said.

"Perhaps I can help with that."

Through the jungle emerged Oryon Halcyon, closely flanked by a younger, female Chiss. It took Fiachra a moment to recognize the robes she wore. "Nila?"

Nila smiled awkwardly and waved. "Hi guys. Uh...I'd like you to meet my dad?"


	21. Chapter 21

When a physical body is damaged, it bleeds. But over time, its own natural defenses come into play and heal the wound. There may be a scar, and it may take some time, but most damage can be repaired through the natural order of things. Occasionally, however, something goes wrong. The body tries too hard to heal itself and ends up causing a greater problem. In trying to heal something that shouldn't have been healed, a tumor forms and eventually causes a collapse of the whole system. At that point, the subject either dies, or outside intervention is required to correct the problem.

This is true with all things, even concepts expanding far beyond what one might consider rational. A galaxy can be wounded. A galaxy can bleed. A galaxy can also heal itself, in the right circumstance. But from time to time, someone comes along trying to fix a problem that needn't be fixed, and a cancer is formed. In times like these, an intervention is required...

* * *

"Get your hands up, now!"

It took Lotharius a mere heartbeat to raise his weapon at the sight of Oryon. He was not sure what was going on, but he knew this traitor was involved. People had died, and he was unwilling to let any potential active hostiles roam free. At the sight of this, Otso readied his weapon as well, shifting his weight to aim his large assault cannon at the newcomers.

By contrast, Haran'buir did not move. The situation was escalating quickly, and his Mandalorian training had taught him that controlling the battlefield should be his top priority. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the world seemed to slow around him.

He could see the anger on Lothärius' face as he barked orders at the Chiss. His mustache bristled as Loth's face contorted. Haran reflected for a moment on this. Over the past several decades, Lothärius had grown into a formidable wartime general. His need to protect those under his command often took precedence over his responsibility to maintain peace on both sides of the conflict. Haran had studied Lothärius' tactics over the years, and he wondered, not for the first time, if his guilt over the apparent loss of his friend had influenced his tactical decisions more than he was consciously aware of.

These thoughts all came to him in a fraction of a second as he examined the field. To him, the scene was playing out in slow-motion, allowing him to evaluate each player in their own right. He turned his head to the left, and watched as Otso slowly brought his weapon to bear, slinging it down under his right shoulder and popping his elbow to bring the barrel back up. Otso the loyal, Otso the muscle. Otso the fearless. It was no surprise to Haran that his stocky friend had remained on the front lines for so long. Otso was no planner, no tactician, but there was nobody you'd rather have charging into the fight alongside you. And here he was, back in the fight, drawing his weapon on a man he had never seen before, simply because his commander had done so first.

Haran turned again, and laid his eyes on Oryon Halcyon. Like himself, Oryon had been scanning the battlefield, his arms at his sides. And in a moment of sudden realization, Haran realized his mistake. While he had been examining his allies in an attempt to find the best way to defuse the situation, Oryon had been examining them as well, determining the greatest threat to the peace.

And Oryon was not looking at any of them.

Haran had only a fraction of a second to act, and drew his blaster in the direction of the outcropping that Oryon was watching. He barely had time to put his finger on the trigger when Asmodeus broke through the underbrush, sending branches and leaves flying outwards. There was no roar of anger this time. The mindless animal that Zahavi had used to kill Michael was gone. This was a warrior, cold and cunning, and he intended to flatten them before they could mount a defense.

Haran's blaster bolt caught Asmo in his side, throwing off his balance. He fell to the ground in the middle of the group and landed hard. Lothärius and Otso, who already had their weapons trained on Oryon, quickly turned them to the attacker. The students all recoiled in fear at the sight of Asmodeus, who had attacked them and driven them from their home. Bersk tried to rise to his feet to defend them once again, but quickly fell to his knees in pain.

There was no time to deliberate, no time to weigh the cost of their actions. Haran'buir, Lothärius, and Otso trained their weapons on Asmodeus and pulled the trigger.

 _No!_

The voice echoed in their heads, and a force like a mighty wind pushed their aim sideways at the last split second. Their weapon's fire exploded harmlessly against a nearby tree. Sparks flew and small tongues of fire lit at the scorch mark. The three men looked at each other, and then at their target.

Oryon had leapt between them and Asmodeus, placing himself directly in the line of fire. His gauntlet was pressed against Asmo's neck, and one could faintly hear the sound of a tiny pneumatic pump firing. His back turned to the soldiers, Oryon looked up at Nila. "I promised. No one else."

He turned around to face the armed men. "Gentlemen. My name is Oryon Halcyon. I'm sure you all have your reasons to doubt, but I am here to help. Asmodeus is too valuable of an ally to dispose of in such a careless manner."

Oryon watched as their eyes rose higher and a shadow fell across him. This was unavoidable, and he was ready. He braced himself for the attack.

"He's dead."

Oryon opened his eye. This was not what he had expected. Asmodeus should have laid a beating down upon in revenge. What did he say? Who is dead?

Oryon turned to face Asmodeus, his old friend and enemy. The larger man was slumped down on his knees, his head bowed. "He made me kill him, Oryon. I wasn't given a choice."

Realization came over Oryon's face and a dark knot twisted itself inside his stomach. "Michael."

Asmo glared upwards at him. "This was your doing, Oryon. You failed at killing me, but your actions led to this." There was anger in his eyes, but not in his voice. His voice was calm, even. "And now we are broken. Besieged."

Oryon took a moment to steel himself. There was no time to mourn, not here, not now. The task in front of him was the same as it was a few moments ago. He kneeled down and met Asmodeus' gaze. "I can stop anyone else from getting hurt."

There was no apology, no plea for forgiveness. He did not claim to be able to right the wrongs or make up for his sins. His declaration was a simple statement of fact. He knew what he was capable of, and he knew what mattered here in this moment. Oryon had severed the link that bound Asmodeus' unwillingly to a cruel master, and he could do the same for the others under that same influence.

Asmodeus nodded. "Fine. Let's get it done." He rose to his feet and faced the students. Sesna and Zhejari stepped forward, placing them between the others and the former groundskeeper for the Academy. He looked down upon them with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Children-" His voice cracked, and he paused for a moment to regain his composure. "Children. You've done so well. You have my word, no harm will come to you."

Oryon snapped his fingers at Bersk. "You...ah...'Trash-Man'. Can you protect these students here?"

Bersk leaned against a boulder and held his side. "Sure. We'll play pazaak and tell scary stories. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

"Not a chance!" Khalon spoke up. "No way are we staying here."

"No kidding. This is our home too. You're going to take it back, we're going to help." Sesna crossed her arms. "It ain't a question."

Kaikorero stood in agreement and locked eyes with Oryon. They regarded each other silently for a moment before Oryon spoke. "You have nothing to fear from me. I give you my word." She shrugged and pulled a holdout blaster from a compartment in her artificial leg.

"Then let's do this."

Otso turned to Lothärius for guidance. "So...are we going along with this?"

Loth and Haran looked at each other, and then shrugged. "Not the strangest thing to happen today, I suppose." Loth quipped.

* * *

Back at the Academy, Zahavi had felt the link between him and Asmodeus sever, and immediately sensed why. Oryon had returned, and had apparently turned on him. This was an unfortunate development, and accelerated his plans. If he had managed to ally himself with Asmodeus, and found a way to protect himself from Zahavi's control, then there was little choice but to move to the final phase of his plan immediately.

He turned and faced the five subjects that he had kept close by. He looked them over, one by one. Elder. Rodeo. Mitvekzuk. Haborym. Barrow. All that remained of the original eight exiles that did not belong in this galaxy. The rest could conceivably be spared without compromising his mission. But the original eight, only with their death could he guarantee the protection of his future. He had planned to use them for individual purposes, but the plan was quickly decaying and there was no sense in leaving loose ends. Oryon and Asmodeus he could handle on his own. Michael was already dead. These five? Their time had come.

Zahavi opened his mouth and uttered a single word.

 **Kill.**


	22. Chapter 22

It had been a week since the Siege of the Halcyon Academy had begun. There were none left on its campus who existed beyond the control of the fallen guardian Zahavi. A militia of Dawnbreakers patrolled the grounds, watching for any sign of outwards attack. Those who bore the name Halcyon and yet lived now toiled day and night on the construction of a mighty weapon. When the time came, Zahavi would activate the device, and all traces of the Halcyons would be forever erased from the galaxy, and all that remained of the Academy would be a crater.

But before that could be done, there was another issue to deal with. A band of those bearing the Halcyon name had escaped the Academy before it was taken over. Even now, they hid in the jungle, no doubt devising their plan to attempt a reclamation of their home. Little did they know that once they all were in range, the warhead would be activated and all would ascend in holy fire.

Zahavi's eyes flared as the completion of his mission was so close at hand. This rebellion would be crushed, once and for all.

* * *

Night fell, and the last remaining Halcyons rested before their assault on the Academy.

The students of the Academy banded together, having found in each other a family that none of whom had ever known individually. Despite all arguments, disagreements, and rivalries, these six young men and women were forever bonded as the first class of the ill-fated Halcyon Academy, and these last few days would forever impact their marks upon the galaxy. They piled together in a makeshift bed of brush and leaves and found peaceful sleep amidst their fellow's heartbeats. In the heart of the pile lay Asmodeus, bearing their weight upon his chest. He loved these children, and would die to protect them.

The Hellfathers found in this unlikely reunion a new vigor, and spent most of the night around the fire catching each other up on the stories of their lives. Haran'buir recalled to them the story of his upbringing in the Mandalorian lifestyle, and how he had sought out his place in the Halcyon clan when he had learned of the others joining. It was his intention to eventually reveal his true identity to them, but circumstance had forced his hand. The others welcomed him into the fold with open arms. There were wounds related to his 'death' that needed healing, but by the time the sun rose they would be brothers once again.

Far away from the two groups, Oryon waited in the treetops. Five years on Belsavis, wary of predators and roving gangs had made him uncomfortable sleeping on the ground. He leaned against the trunk of a tree and wept for the loss of Michael, his adoptive brother. It was his actions that directly led to his death, and he knew this and accepted this. He had been ready to betray all of his brothers over what he believed to be right. And yet, the revelation that was the existence of his daughter had shook him from this self-righteous paradigm and forced him to confront his motivations and his decisions outright. The weight of that guilt would remain on him for as long as he lived. He took solace in the promise that he had made to Nila-Om, that no one else would die as a result of his actions.

Little did he know that he had already failed in this promise.

* * *

The device had been completed. It loomed over the terrace where the student once held class. By tapping into the latent Nexus energy of the deceased Halcyons, Zahavi had been able to complete a steady link to source of all their abilities. When activated, the device would call home, temporarily creating a pathway that would draw all Guardian energy out of this galaxy and return it to its original source, the original Guardians of the First Nexus. This would act as a dirty bomb for all those touched by Guardian abilities. Any remaining Halcyons from this world or any other would be instantly disintegrated into the energy flow and returned to raw energy.

Of course, Zahavi was aware that this device would likely affect him in the same way. But this mattered not to him. Once the Halcyon line was destroyed, his future of endless war would be averted and his mission complete. As for those under his control, they too were touched by the Guardian energy, and would likely be dissipated as well. But no war is without collateral damage, and the lives of a few dozen men and women weighed nothing against the countless billions he was saving.

The only remaining matter was to activate the device. But when? The death he had sown here had strengthened the machine, for certain. But there was no way to properly estimate the blast radius. Activate it too soon and all the pieces may not be in range, rendering his entire mission a failure. All those lives he had taken would be without purpose, just...senseless carnage.

No, that would not do. Every life he took in this galaxy was a means to an end. He would give them honor by making their deaths serve a noble purpose. No, the device could not be activated until the timing was absolutely perfect. They would all be consumed in a holy fire, converted to pure energy and sent into the First Nexus for their eternal reward. This was Zahavi's cause. This was his war. This was his judgement.

The final day of the Siege began as any other. The sun rose slowly over the horizon, and sounds of the predatory night creatures gave way to the pleasant calls and songs of the morning birds. Dawnbreakers marched the perimeter, keeping constant watch over the Academy, on the lookout for missing rebels. They marched ceaselessly, their eyes glowing gold with the after effects of Zahavi's mind control. The stopped not to eat nor sleep, and had it not been for the rigorous standards embedded in them by their commander, Haran'buir, then most would have collapsed from exhaustion by now.

Of course, Zahavi was no great commander. He cared not for those under his command. To him, they were a tool to be used, nothing more. A good commander knows when to give his soldiers time to recover, to rest, to refuel. A good commander knows how to keep his forces in peak efficiency.

A good commander also knows when to strike a weakened opponent.

A mechanical roar filled the air, and the exhausted Dawnbreakers raised their weapons in the direction of the sound. The noise was quickly followed by identical roars, filling the air with a mighty cacophonous harmony. And they were getting closer.

By the time the sound was clear enough to be identified, it was too late. Four swoop bikes exploded from the jungle brush like a thunderous wave crashing against the beach. Blasters fired in all directions as the Hellfathers rode once again. The Dawnbreakers tried to keep up, but the attack was everywhere at once. The first line guarding the perimeter was mowed down in the initial attack, and after a moment, it was over.

Oryon, Asmodeus, and the academy students filtered out of the trees as the Hellfathers disembarked their bikes and examined their foes. Bersk, who had been riding with Otso, pulled down a nearby branch, gently forming it into a crutch before severing it from the donating tree. He leaned against it as he surveyed the battlefield.

"This is just the outer line. Im sure backup is already on the way." He remarked.

Haran nodded. "All of their vitals are recorded in a linked broadcast. One goes unconscious, the others are alerted. They'll be here in seconds."

Oryon plugged a dataspike into one of the fallen soldier's helmet, cloning the data it broadcast. "This is the first strike. Zahavi will be near the middle of the campus. I'm counting on you four to penetrate as deep into their defenses as you can, clearing the way for Asmodeus and myself to find him." He turned to the students. "You wanted to fight, now is your chance. Keep the Dawnbreakers off our backs."

"Non lethal, kids." Loth's voice was stern as he reloaded his rifle. "These are still our brothers and sisters in this armor. Stun, debilitate, or remove from the battle. No killing."

"Asmo? You're with me. The rest of you, buy us as much time as you can." Oryon and Asmodeus disappeared into the jungle, cutting around the east side of the Academy in order to flank the advancing troops.

Otso mounted his assault cannon on its turret stand and prepared for the advancement. "Never loaded stun packs into this big fella before. Should be fun to watch, if nothing else."

* * *

Zahavi watched as his forces descended into the jungles, chasing after the sounds of blaster fire. The rebels had made their move, it would seem. This was good. They would fight to the center of the facility, and then Zahavi would activate the device. And then all of this would be over. Then he could finally rest.

The ambush came so quickly that Zahavi barely had time to react. While all his forces were advancing to the south, the sneak attack came from the east. He barely had time to raise his blade over his head to absorb the blow delivered by Asmodeus. The force of the impact threw him several meters away, but he remained on his feet and ready to fight. Asmodeus and Oryon stood before him. Oryon was calm as he ever was, carefully examining the device. Asmodeus was breathing heavily, his shoulders pumping up and down with rage. Blood dripped from his fists where Zahavi's weapon had blocked the attack, but if he felt it he showed no indication. The only emotion in his face and eyes was pure heated rage, and it was aimed squarely at Zahavi.

The Togruta swept his weapon in a wide arc, slinging the blood off the blade and bringing it into an offensive position. Oryon was the first to speak. "Keep him busy. I need to find out what this is."

Asmodeus roared and charged Zahavi, attacking him bare-fisted. Zahavi side-stepped the attack and flicked the blade in a vertical arch, clipping the meat from from one of Asmodeus's knuckles. More blood dripped as Asmo turned and pounded a fist into Zahavi's chest, driving him into the wall. Zahavi smiled drove his own fist into Asmodeus' ear, causing the larger man to roar in pain and stumble backwards.

He turned and saw that Oryon had already plugged his datapad into the device was downloading its specs. His smile faded. He could not allow the traitor to disable the bomb within! He leapt towards Oryon, but Asmodeus caught him by the ankle and swung him in the opposite direction, flinging him into a stone wall that crumbled and gave way to the impact. This would be more difficult than he expected.

It was time to stop delaying. With these final two Halcyons in range, the device was ready to be activated. Zahavi said a silent prayer, asking the gods to accept his soul into the Nexus at the moment of his death, and charged forward.

Asmodeus reached an arm out to intercept Zahavi, but the smaller man was too fast for him. The was a flash of light, a sound akin to a branch breaking, and an excruciating pain. Asmodeus watched as his left arm fell to the ground, no longer attached to the rest of him. He had no time to process this, as Zahavi had struck his ankles before the arm hit the ground. In a moment, Asmodeus was on his knees, bleeding out and clutching his stub of an arm. Zahavi stood before him, allowing himself a prideful smile for his victory. The mighty and infamous Asmodeus, on his knees before him, powerless.

Zahavi's pride was his mistake. With his final strength, Asmodeus reached out with his remaining hand and grabbed the back of Zahavi's head. With every ounce of will he could must he drove his own forehead into Zahavi's nose. There was a sickening crunch as the front of Zahavi's face shattered, and he drove his sword deep into Asmodeus' chest, puncturing his heart.

Zahavi stumbled backwards. His vision was blurred, blood ran down his face. He had lost several teeth and could not see out of one of his eyes. Asmodeus lay dead before him, but his mission was not yet complete. The device must be activated. He screamed in rage and leapt for Oryon, who was on his knees, rewiring the device from the inside.

Zahavi may have be a split second too late, but it mattered not. Oryon activated the device, and the world around them erupted in golden fire.

* * *

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed. A second? A day? Time had no meaning here. Here, where the fire burned you to the bone and healed you back at the same time. Zahavi and Oryon grappled in the flames as they plummeted through the air. Were they falling? Ascending? There was no way for Oryon to tell, the flames surrounded them and carried them. This mattered not. Zahavi with his deformed face laughed as he struck Oryon over and over. Their minds were open to each other here, and Oryon could see the future that Zahavi had shown him. But more than that, he could see the parts that Zahavi had not shown him.

He saw, through Zahavi's eyes, as he joined the Guardians of his time, an ultra-military police force imbued with an otherworldly power. He saw as Zahavi underwent the procedure that gave him his Word, his power to force others to kill in his name. He watched as the implant was placed in his tongue, limiting his vocabulary to a single word. He saw as Zahavi used this power to control others through fear.

But fear was not enough. Zahavi desired more. And when his organization was dismantled and his fellow soldiers locked away for abuse of their power, Zahavi saw his chance. Those who had uncovered the corruption and destroyed their power base were a renegade band of guardians who had united under the name Halcyon, who had taken inspiration from a line of Guardians in the distant past to reform their organization.

It became clear to Oryon that Zahavi had lost his mind at this point. There was no endless war, there was no Halcyon invasion of the galaxy. There was just Zahavi and his corrupt organization going to war with those that served the light. He saw as Zahavi stole the tech that allowed him to jump backwards in time with the intention of destroying the Halcyons.

He looked down at his opponent, who was still cackling with delight. And he knew what to do.

Oryon punched Zahavi in the face and reached into his mouth, wrapping his fingers around the implant embedded in the tongue. A second later, amidst Zahavi's screams of pain, the implant was plugged into Oryon's eyepiece, which copied the data and integrated it into his own systems. He grabbed Zahavi by the shoulders and faced him, his one organic eye looking directly into Zahavi's remaining eye.

"Kill, you son of a bitch."

Zahavi continued to laugh up the very end. He pulled a knife from his pack and drove it into his heart, maintaining his eye contact with Oryon the entire time. He fell backwards into the flames, which devoured him and carried him away.

 _That is it, then. It's over._

Oryon curled into a fetal position and gripped his knees as the golden fire sent him spiraling through space.

He had only two thoughts before the end.

 _I love you, Nila._

 _I'm sorry._

* * *

Oryon awoke in a darkness. Blue clouds drifted past him in black sky. He floated amongst them. It was quiet here, peaceful. It had to be akin to floating through space without protective gear. He raised his head and beheld an enormous stone temple, greater than anything ever built by man. A beam of white light emitted from its apex, and just looking at it gave Oryon a feeling of warmth. Was he dead? Is this the afterlife?

"Hello Oryon."

The voice came from everywhere at once. Before him formed the likeness of an enormous person, humanoid in shape but devoid of any physical features. There was no face, no mouth, only the vague outline of a person. And yet, it was somehow familiar...

The figure dwarfed Oryon, several hundred meters tall, but came to rest at a comfortable level for him to see. Oryon unfolded himself and attempted to stand straight to face this new entity.

"Who are you?"

The figure tilted its head slowly, and answered.

"I am Halcyon, First Guardian of the Nexus. And I think it's time we spoke."


	23. Chapter 23

Oryon had never been a man of faith. He knew that there were forces at work in the galaxy that were well beyond his understanding, but never had he earnestly considering the existence of a supreme being or beings that acted as omniscient caregivers to lesser mortals. The galaxy was built on science and logic and facts, and there was nothing that could not eventually be understood.

He knew that there were others in the clan that disagreed with him on this, notably Michael, whose opinion Oryon cared for quite a bit. While he was envious of his brother's peace and confidence that he found in his beliefs, Oryon himself had always secreted considered them a bit foolish. He had observed events that others would consider acts of heaven, or miracles. Yet every extraordinary event that had ever taken place had always been revealed to have a logical and scientific basis. Even the Force, which several of his clan wielded effortless and to magical effect, had a scientific, observable basis in fact. And this is where Oryon found his own peace and comfort. Nothing was beyond the realm of understanding.

But everything Oryon knew to be true had been called into question in the recent past. And now here he was, face to metaphorical face with a being that he knew Michael would have considered to be nothing less than a god. The original Halcyon, First Guardian of the Nexus, their namesake and source of all of their abilities, was now holding parley with Oryon in a mystical space between galaxies, at the very threshold of the Nexus of all space and time. It was enough to humble even the staunchest of unbelievers.

And yet, Oryon had never been one for humility.

"Go **** yourself."

The being called Halcyon recoiled slightly. "Excuse me?"

Oryon frowned. "You heard me."

He could feel the anger radiating off the ethereal being before him, but Halcyon kept his composure and responded with a soft tone. "I understand that you probably have some resentment built up towards your situation. I probably would, as well. But most would consider this to be a holy place, and perhaps some respect is in order?"

Oryon crossed his arms. "Don't give me that. If you are who you say you are, then you have a reason for bringing me here. If you were hoping for worship and adoration then you are even dumber than I expected."

Again, the faceless being took a moment to compose itself before responding. "I am like unto a god, Oryon. You live only by my compassion and grace. I brought you here for a grand opportunity that none in your galaxy have ever been offered. You have done myself a great service, and in doing so served the Nexus well. You are to be rewarded for your actions."

"Oh, is that right?" Oryon scowled and narrowed his one good eye. "Well, you have my express permission to take your reward and shove it up whatever orifices you still have."

The blue aura surrounding the heavenly being seemed to darken and change hue to a slightly purple-ish tone. "You are upset at the loss of your brothers. I understand. Great sacrifices are always difficult to process. But your clan served the Nexus, and their sacrifices will not be forgotten, for -"

"Cram it." Oryon gestured rudely. "We never 'served' the Nexus, or you. All we ever did was try to clean up the messes caused by your idiotic blunders into the lives of those better than you."

"Oryon..." The voice trembled slightly, and that purple-ish hue grew lighter. "Tread lightly. The wrath of gods is nothing for mortals to taunt."

"Eat me, nerf-herder."

The galaxy burned red as a mighty anger was stoked. A tendril of energy wrapped itself around Oryon's neck and lifted him up, bringing him close to the face of his host. Oryon's legs kicked futilely against the air, and his hands grasped at the intangible cord that tightened around his windpipe.

"I am Halcyon, the greatest and most powerful being you will ever encounter! You are MINE, Oryon. Mine to prosper, or mine to destroy! You are NOTHING before me, do you understand?"

Oryon choked against the pressure on his throat, and managed a weak croak.

Halcyon loosened the pressure and Oryon hovered in the air once again, breathing in heavy gasps.

The ethereal Halcyon seemed to calm himself, and the reddish hue faded back to blue. "You have much to learn, little Chiss."

Oryon growled and glared up at the impossibly large being. "And where was this rage before, when Zahavi fractured your precious timeline and murdered your followers?" He rose to his feet. "You're angry now? When you've got me here? You're so powerful and great, how come you didn't lift a finger to stop your people from dying?"

Halcyon drifted amongst the clouds rolling along in this blackness, and bowed his head. "It is unfortunate that Zahavi was able to abuse the timeline like he did. But this is why the Guardians exist, to correct such unfortunate circumstance."

"Don't give me that bantha-dung cop out nonsense. We were no guardians. You took that from us when you exiled us. Remember that? You scooped us up and dropped us out on the back porch so YOU wouldn't have to deal with us, didn't you?"

Halcyon raised a hand in a solemn gesture of peace. "All things happen for a reason, my child. You and the others were deposited in a galaxy that needed you, and time and time again you have proven that you were up to the task of protecting it."

Oryon crossed his arms again and spit. "I call shenanigans on that pile of bantha crap. All the problems we've been called to take care of never would have happened to this galaxy if some idiot with a complex hadn't decided to play god and move us around."

The reddish hue flared momentarily and then faded. "Careful, Oryon..."

Oryon continued, undeterred. "All of this suffering, all of this death, its all because of YOU, you know that, right? You and your insufferable incompetence. YOU dropped us here. YOU cocked around with the timeline, and then act all wounded when Zahavi attempted to do the same. All this blood? All this death and pain and suffering? It's all a direct result of your cosmically inept, world-class, record breaking buffoonery!"

"Thats ENOUGH!" The sky went red once again and Oryon felt himself gripped in an enormous fist, pressure squeezing him all around. He gasped as the air was forced out of his lungs, and he felt his ribs struggle against the weight pushed against them. It would not take much more to crush him completely.

"I do not wish your death, Oryon, which is why I saved you and brought you here. But I swear on the Nexus itself that you WILL learn respect."

Oryon fought for breath and returned the wrath that was projected onto him. "GO TO HELL!"

Immediately the pressure released and Oryon could breathe again. Halcyon began to turn his back. "Obviously you are unworthy of the gifts I offered. You shall be returned to your world and-"

"You'd better kill me."

Oryon pounded his chest, recovering his breath. Halcyon turned back to him in surprise. "What was that?"

Oryon scrambled to his feet and puffed out his chest. "You may not have pulled the trigger, but I hold you personally responsible for the deaths of the Halcyons that fell under Zahavi's control. If you let me go, I swear on everything I have ever believed in that I will find a way back here, and I WILL find a way to kill you."

The featureless, cosmic being turned back to Oryon with an amused tone. "You must be joking."

Oryon met the other's gaze. "Do I look like I'm ****ing joking?"

The two stared at each other silently for a moment.

"I could end you right now, Oryon. You must be aware of that."

"Then do it." Oryon was unfazed. "You've already proven that our lives mean nothing to you. So why bother? You can kill me now, and prove yourself to be the dirt-clod I already know you are, or you can dismiss me, and spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, waiting for the day when I crack the secrets of this place and come for you."

There was a harshness in his voice, an anger that Halcyon knew all too well. But beneath it, a great pain. A pain he had never heard in Oryon before in all his decades of watching them. It was this that gave the cosmic being pause. "What is it you want, Oryon?"

The Chiss folded his arms. "Fix the mistake. Bring them back."

Halcyon shook his head. "No, I cannot do that. The timeline has been perverted too much already."

"Oh, NOW you care about the timeline?" Oryon snorted. "You didn't seem to care all that much when Zahavi was screwing around with it."

Halcyon sighed. "It's not that simple. Their deaths have been written. Even Guardians must die, and their essence returns to the Nexus. Their bodies have passed on, to re-animate them would be an abomination, and they would have no memory of who they were. It is a pointless request."

Oryon dwelled on this for a moment. "Then we do it another way."

A few moments later, Oryon's plan had been proposed, and the cosmic being was nodding. "That would work, Oryon. We can do that." He looked down at the smaller man. "Such sacrifice. I am so proud of you."

Oryon turned his back. "I'm not doing it for you."

A flash of light.

A burning fire.

A feeling of falling.

And then only silence.

* * *

The next day, the Halcyon Academy was liberated. The control over the prisoners inside had been broken, and brothers and sisters in the cause rejoiced together, and mourned their losses. The students returned to their dormitories with heavy decisions to make. And the Halcyons gathered to grieve for the fallen.

Oryon was called in for inquiry to the High Council of the Phantom Legion to explain what had happened. He gave a truthful testimony, while omitting certain facts that might seem unbelievable to the uninitiated. After the inquiry, Oryon was pardoned for his past crimes and allowed membership once again in recognition for his part in defeating Zahavi.

Volaro was given command of the Academy, and assumed the role of Headmaster. It was not long before new students began to join, and classes resumed. The first class of the Academy elected to remain, and all would be granted admittance into the clan upon the completion of their first semester. They mourned the losses of the eight men who had died in the attack, and set up a memorial in their honor. The dedication ceremony was attended by all.

All but one.

Oryon had never been a man of faith. He knew that there were forces at work in the galaxy that were well beyond his understanding, and now knew the extent of the powers beyond. The galaxy was built on science and logic and facts, and given enough time and ambition, nothing was impossible.

Oryon fired up the engines of his ship and ascended into the night. He broke through the atmosphere and shot off into the blackest regions of space.

His brothers were out there. And he was going to bring them home.


End file.
